


I Found a Reason

by Stressedspidergirl



Series: An Act of Kindness [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, F/F, F/M, Found Family, Gladiator Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post Season 8, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2019-11-29 11:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18222701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stressedspidergirl/pseuds/Stressedspidergirl
Summary: How Shiro & Curtis became a couple. You get to see their relationship develop and cement into something really wonderful. Deals with a lot of PTSD, identity/sense of self, mental health that kind of thing. So if slowburn hurt comfort angst is your jam, you've come to the right place.Title comes from the song by Cat Power.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO SO much to Prodigalra from tumblr for finding my fic, commenting on it, and then offering to beta it. It was honestly garbage until you started polishing it up. Seriously. Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. <3 Your suggestions add so much -plus your editing. You can really tell this was originally written piecemeal on mobile up until you got to it. Then it's... readable, somewhat streamlined (I can't write streamlined in reality) and somewhat functional. Thanks! Best beta in a long time. You can never suggest too much. <3

**Prologue - Onboard the ATLAS.**

Curtis holds the comm pad in his hand, looking over the softly glowing display. He’s been asked to take it directly to Captain Shirogane.

Palming the comm at the door, “Captain, I have something you need to see,” he says. Then waits for a response. He’s had to wake Captain Shirogane once or twice now, and usually within seconds the captain is at the door dressed and stepping out of the room ready to plunge into battle. Even if the situation doesn’t call for it. Curtis has no idea how the commander always manages to seem awake and alert at any hour of the night, but he’s thankful for it.  He can’t think of a single person more capable to lead. 

“Captain, please respond,” Curtis says, palming the comm again. Odd. They know the captain is in his quarters. Holding down the button for a few seconds, he thinks he can hear something inside. For all unless Shirogane also taps the mic on his end there’s no way to hear anything but static. Pressing his ear to the door, he thinks he can hear sounds of a fight, or struggle. 

His heart rate increases as he presses his palm to the lock, he has clearance to enter unless the door has been barred. Most of the paladins and a few other ranking officers among the crew have the same access in case of emergencies. Pulling a weapon as he walks in, the room is dark. 

How could anyone have gotten in to attack the captain without someone noticing? They’re in space, it’s not as if it’s easy to get in or out. It takes a second or two for his eyes to adjust to the dim ‘night’ lighting. It’s never truly dark on the ship. 

Blaster pointed in the direction of the noise, he lowers it almost immediately as his eyes adjust fully. 

All the yelling is coming from the room’s single occupant. Closing the door, he assesses the situation as quickly as he can. 

It’s Shiro; he’s not fighting anyone. There’s no one else … he can’t find any hint anyone else has been in the room. There’s no attack, no Haggar. Or Honerva or whatever she’s calling herself now. “Captain, wake up!” he half shouts, hoping that it isn’t some kind of mental attack from the space-witch. 

Bolting awake, Shiro sits up, gasping and panting, soaked in sweat. “Lieutenant Williams? What are you doing in here?” Shiro asks, confused. Rubbing his hand over his face, he can feel sweat. His hair is matted down to his forehead and his scalp is slick with it. 

“I have a report, I was told you needed it immediately. I can come back in a few minutes, sir.” He isn’t too sure how to react, or handle the situation, so he aims for bland neutrality. It seems to work, since the other man doesn’t react oddly to him.  Curtis wants to ask if Shiro is okay. He wants to help him out of the tangled covers, and hand him a glass of water. Deciding, at the very least, he can fetch the water without being too forward, it will give Shiro a chance to untangle himself. Picking up a cup from the desk and he heads into the small bathroom. 

Filling the cup up, he takes his time, trying to give his captain some time to recover. He wouldn’t want to be seen in that condition, and he doubts the other man feels any differently about it. Either way he’ll pretend he never saw, and that none of this ever happened. It’s the only way to maintain morale on the ship, for one. And for two, the man in the other room deserves his respect and his silence. Curtis understands what it is to have nightmares that leave you gasping and waking up screaming. 

He can hear rustling and some soft cursing and decides it’s probably safe to go back into Shiro’s sleeping quarters. Perfunctorily passing him both the glass and the comm pad, he waits while Shiro reads it over, surprised the man was so quick to get into uniform. He still looks sweaty, but he hasn’t had a chance to finish freshening up. His fingers are still finishing up buttoning his uniform jacket as he sets the pad down on his desk with the water and hunches over the desk, reading. Once that’s done he picks the cup up from the side of the pad and drains it. Pinching the bridge of his nose for a second, he squeezes his eyes shut. This can’t really be happening right now.  “I will meet you on the bridge, Lieutenant.” 

“Sir,” Curtis says with a salute, recognizing a dismissal when he hears it. No hint anything happened. Well, he won’t tell anyone. Half wishing he knew what to say, or how to help, he does his best to exit normally. 

Shiro breathes out through his nose, hating himself. No time, he reminds himself as he ducks into the bathroom to run water over his hair and rinse the sweat off his face and neck, too. 

Damp at the collar, he strides to the bridge - how long will it take for Lt. Williams to spread the news to the entire crew, he wonders? Hours? Minutes? Will he submit a report to the Garrison finding him unfit for duty? Or just petition Iverson and the other senior officers to remove him from command? Sick to his stomach with worry he heads onto the bridge wondering what will greet him.

 

***

Curtis wakes up gasping and panting in his quarters, and so antsy he can’t see straight. Rubbing uncomfortably at his chest, the pressure isn’t real. Nothing is crushing him, nothing is weighing him down. The room isn’t full dark, he’s fine. They’re all fine..   Hopping up, throws the blankets back with abandon, glad there’s no inspections to worry about out here. Heading straight for the mess hall, he needs some tea, or something, anything, to have a reason to be out and about and not in his room. In Garrison issue sweats and t-shirt, he realizes he forgot footwear but decides he doesn’t care. 

At some point, it occurs to him that perhaps Captain Shirogane is having another nightmare, too. Curtis wishes someone would wake him up when he was dreaming about… Shaking his head, he makes two cups of mint tea, and heads back towards the officers’ quarters. Pausing outside his commander’s door he feels a moment of panic. This is stupid. He’s stupid. But then when he presses his ear to the door, sure enough he hears screaming. Just barely, thanks to the reinforced metals, but still. Tapping the comm “Commander? Commander I have a report for you!” He lies, half hoping that might work. 

He doesn’t even have his comm pad. Stupid. All the same. Tucking his teacup against his chest with his forearm, he just palms the door open like last time, stepping into the room and trying again: “Captain!” No one’s entirely sure what Shiro’s official rank is at this point, since he was never supposed to be in charge of the Atlas. Is he promoted fully to commander? Just captain? He’s certainly not the pilot he was, he’s in charge of the whole ship. Will he be given a higher commission as admiral? “Shiro!” 

Shiro jerks awake, “Don’t-!” he begs, then looks around, chest heaving. “Lieutenant? What… are we under attack?” 

“No sir, I had a report for you, but I … I brought tea so you wouldn’t be mad I woke you, and then.. I left my comm pad….” he tries to lie, feeling even stupider by the second. Either way he thrusts his hand out, holding the mug in easy reach of the other man. 

Reaching out to take it, Shiro takes a sip. “Can I ask you something?” he asks, looking at his cup. 

“Yes sir.” 

“Off the record, I suppose.” 

“Yeah, of course,” Curtis says, unsure of what has the other man so uncomfortable. He’d seemed more composed last time. But then again maybe Curtis has drastically overstepped. 

“Why didn’t you report me for dereliction of duty or general incompetence?” 

“What?” Curtis is so flabbergasted he has no idea how to respond. “Is this a joke, sir?” 

“No,” Shiro looks up at him, somehow still commanding the space in the room from his bed. Curtis is taller than he is standing, and the height difference is no easier sitting. But he’s still undeniably in charge. 

“Sir? You've never missed so much as a minute on the bridge. That's not dereliction. You haven't made any bad calls that I'm aware of.” 

“Is it not part of your duty to inform the brass if there is an officer unfit for duty?” Shiro asks, looking up defiantly to meet Curtis’ eyes. 

“With the potential exception of Slav, I can't think of any such officers,” he says uncomprehendingly. Then it dawns on him. The tremors in Shiro's hands, the sweat matting his hair down and sticking his shirt to his skin. “Sir, we all have bad dreams. So if that's what you're referring to, you would have to dismiss half your staff.” 

Shiro's eyes widen in shock, then narrow. 

“I can't imagine what else you would be getting at, sir.” 

“Thanks for the tea,” he says slowly, looking down at the liquid for a few moments before looking up at Curtis, a kind of wondering expression on his face. Someone who saw him in pain, and stayed. And cared, and thought nothing less of him for it. Intrigued, “Lieutenant… what was the information I needed to see?”

Managing to blush under his dark skin, Curtis is glad the room is dark. “I have to admit that I lied to you. I woke up from a bad dream myself… and….” He’s glad he’s holding the mug so he doesn’t twist his hands like an errant child caught stealing cookies. 

“And you thought I could use a rescue?” he asks dryly. 

“Not that you needed it,” Curtis says hastily. “I’m sure you’re very good at handling yourself.” 

Shiro chokes on his tea. He hasn’t ‘handled’ himself in a few years now. Turning red, he knows what Curtis meant, it’s just that he’d never looked at him like he was anything other than a coworker really until a minute or two ago. Sure Sam had made some hints they would get along, but then the Atlas had happened and Shiro had forgotten.

Realizing what he’s said, for all they both know what he meant by it, Curtis winces. “I think I’ll return to my quarters, sir.”

“Shiro,” he says softly. “Nights like tonight, I’m no one’s superior.” 

“I highly doubt that... Shiro,” Curtis says as he walks out of the room. Face burning as the door slides shut, he wends his way back to his quarters. 

 


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few months since the crew of the Atlas was decommissioned (and shifted to other projects), Shiro and Curtis have started dating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like 900 hugs and thanks and cookies to Prodigalra. Thank you thank you thank you, again.   
> The patience that it requires to look at the hot mess I wrote, put it in order, shift sections around, and completely switch around entire sentences I botched... Honestly I think they're the real writer here. :} I lucked into an awesome beta, thank you for all the encouragement. Thank you for the conversations, thank you for the headcanons and frank discussions about character arcs, plans, and ideas, and thank you again for putting up with the -ings. Seriously. Drop them a line on tumblr to thank them for beta'ing this if you enjoy it.

Curtis wakes up, feeling like something is wrong. Trying to figure out what it is, his first instinct is to check on Takashi. Rolling over, the room is pitch black, forcing him to rely on his other senses to assess the situation. His head is a little muddled. Veronica had asked them to come help her show Axca a typical Earth style birthday bash for those above the legal drinking age. His mouth is dry and he looks around blearily. 

Soft, shuddering breaths fill the otherwise silent room, and Curtis carefully reaches out a hand to let it rest on his partner’ s shoulder. 

Shiro’s whole body is rigid, the tendons standing out against straining muscles. The fabric of his sleep shirt is damp, sticking to his skin.

A nightmare, then. Although usually when they’re bad they’re accompanied by screaming, or begging. Sometimes cursing, too. “Please stop” is Curtis’ least favorite phrase in the entire world, now. He’d never thought anything would set his teeth on edge like that, but now if someone so much as starts to say ‘please’ he can feel his jaw clench waiting for the rest of the sentence. 

Stroking Takashi’s hair gently, he kisses the back of his neck. 

“Wake up,” he says softly. “Takashi, wake up, it’s over.” Shaking the other man awake has never gone well, and Curtis only ever does it in extreme situations. Generally only when he’s already prepared to leap from the bed before Shiro can retaliate. “C’mon,” he pleads softly, rubbing the middle of Takashi’s back and feeling the tense muscles. Shouting works sometimes, but he feels as if the people sleeping in the neighbouring apartments might not appreciate it. Thankfully the walls are well designed to muffle sound, but not much covers up yelling. 

Shiro whimpers in his sleep and curls up tighter , tears slipping past tightly closed eyelids. He thinks he can hear something he never once heard during his captivity with the Galra: a kind voice. A gentle touch on his back. But it can’t be real. He’s the Champion now. Takashi Shirogane doesn’t exist there. He can’t. Takashi is weak, helpless, an explorer and pilot, not a gladiator. Takashi Shirogane had to die for the Champion to live, to succeed and make it back to Earth. 

“Takashi,” Curtis says again as he pulls away, leaning over to reach his nightstand  and tap the light on to its lowest setting . The glow is so weak it barely reaches past the nightstand. He doesn’t want to blind Takashi or himself, not to mention he’d like to go back to sleep after this is over.  “Takashi, wake up,” Curtis tells him a little more firmly, but still quietly.  He strokes damp hair back from Takashi’s face, and doesn’t try to do much else, yet. He’d noticed earlier that Takashi was soaked in sweat, and sighs a little. They’ll need to change the sheets again.

Curtis really has no complaints, he has nightmares of his own. A little less frequent, and frankly less horrifying overall. But they’ve both done things like puke their guts up before making it all the way to the bathroom. That had been an unpleasant night, the first time that happened. Embarrassing, too. For all now it seems like nothing. 

Needing to see if his attempts to help are doing anything, he shifts to try and get a better look at the other man’s face.  He’s careful as he leans over Takashi - he doesn’t want to get hit in the nose. Then again it would be fair; he’s hit the other man twice now, in his sleep.  He feels his gut twist when he he sees the other man’s face crumpled in distress. 

Takashi’s bitten his lip in his sleep, and Curtis can not only see blood slowly filling the corners of his mouth, but also the tears slipping over the scarred bridge of his nose.  He kisses Takashi’s cheek and carefully slides behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle.

“Takashi, I’m here. It’s over, love, it’s all over. Wake up,” he says softly into his boyfriend’s ear. “It’s another nightmare, and I’m here, and I’m telling you it’s over. Wake up.”  He kisses Takashi’s cheek and lightly nuzzles him. Gentle is always the best way, at least for Takashi. Curtis isn’t too likely to punch anyone if he’s woken up abruptly. However, the same cannot be said of him when he’s actually asleep and trapped in the throes of a nightmare. Shiro can just shake his shoulder if stroking his hair doesn’t work. For all Curtis is about to do something more drastic if Takashi doesn’t wake up soon. 

Trailing his hand down to find his partner's, he can feel the tendons in the back of his hand standing out, fist clenched tight. Curtis is  patient and persistent as he works Takashi's hand open, and  he twines his fingers in and pulls his arm up away from his middle towards his chest. It’s a bit of a struggle, and Shiro’s breathing gets more ragged.  Curtis presses their intertwined hands over Takashi’s heart. “This is real. I’m here. And you can be as mad as you want, but if you don’t wake up soon I’m going to dump ice water on you.” Not that he would. For all he knows that would be another trigger. Sometimes Shiro doesn’t even know something will set him off until it happens and the triggered memory paralyzes him. 

_ The Champion hears the voice, now. It sounds fake. No one calls him Takashi anymore. Not since Matt and Sam were taken away. But someone is talking to him. Confused, he’s curled into a ball on the floor of his cell, crushed arm pressed flat against his stomach. In the last fight, the other prisoner had had some kind of mace. They’d crushed his wrist, he thinks. No medical assistance had come. If he screams, they’ll come ‘play’ with him. He has to stay quiet, has to get through the pain somehow. But that voice... he can feel his heart thundering under his palm. But his hand is around his middle, clenching the forearm of his other arm. Not metal. Flesh and blood. Strange. It should be metal, shouldn’t it? _

Something applies pressure to a knot in his shoulder, and while it hurts it’s so out of touch with reality he blinks awake.  He tries to quiet his breathing and slow his heartbeat , any sign of weakness can be exploited. What he’s seeing makes no sense; this isn’t his cell. 

“Curtis?” Shiro whispers softly. This is Curtis’ apartment, those are his pictures of the Orion nebula on the wall. The soft dark blue sheets, cream walls, and wood nightstands -nothing like the cell the Galra kept him in. He’s safe here. The Galra are no longer their enemies. He has not been in a cell in years, and the war is over, the Coalition is gaining strength, and Earth is secure and rebuilding. 

“Yeah, I’m here,” Curtis reassures him instantly, kissing the back of his neck. Not at all surprised when Takashi immediately tries to roll over to face him, he’s momentarily prevented from doing so by their interlocked hands. “You have to let go first,” he suggests, wincing a little from how tightly his partner has been gripping his fingers. Hand freed, he waits until Shiro situates himself, and takes his hand again, kissing his palm. 

“Did I hurt you?” His voice shakes and he takes a few shuddering deep breaths. Speaking causes the bleeding to start afresh, and he closes his eyes at the taste of blood in his mouth, coating his teeth and tongue in a thick film. A shudder rips through him from head to toe, and he wants to spit. 

“No,” Curtis tells him, exhaling in surprise. “No, you were locked in a ball. I think you hurt yourself, though,” Shifting, he props himself up on one arm, leaning over to kiss the tears off Shiro’s cheeks. Shiro just squeezes his eyes shut tighter, new tears rolling over the jagged scar bisecting his face. “It’s over now,” he reminds him. “Takashi, it’s over now.” Reaching past him to grab a tissue off the nightstand, he pauses to carefully dab the blood off Shiro’s lips and the side of his cheek where it had pooled in the corner of his mouth before spilling over. He patiently waits for Shiro to talk once he’s done. Curtis uses a thumb to smooth away more tears before kissing him first on the bridge of the nose, and then the forehead. 

“I,” he starts hesitantly, swallowing hard. He owes Curtis some kind of explanation, he feels. “I knew if I made a sound, they’d come in to make me scream louder,” he says softly. “I just had to stay quiet.” He shakes a little, real sobs starting to push through as he finally realizes it’s safe. They’re safe. Allowing himself to reach out and wrap his arms around Curtis, he buries his face in  his boyfriend’s  shoulder. His whole body shakes with the memory of the fear, the pain, the utter helplessness of it all. “Say my name,” he bursts out suddenly. The name they tried to make him forget. He’s not the Champion anymore. He won’t ever be that person again. A shiver runs down his spine. He will never kill for sport again. In fact, if he’s ever in that situation again they can kill him. He won’t fight. 

“Takashi. Takashi Shirogane,” Curtis tells him without hesitation. “Commander Shirogane, once the Black Paladin, and once Commander of the Atlas.” Then he smiles a little, pressing a gentle kiss against Shiro’s cheek. “The guy everyone calls Shiro even though it’s been setting his teeth on edge for years.”

He feels more than sees Shiro smile a little, feels the soft kiss against his collarbone.  He rubs a hand in small circles on Shiro’s back, and kisses the side of his head. “You’re here, in my apartment, in my bed. We no longer live at the Garrison, and you will never  _ ever _ live in a cell again,” Curtis says, his normally gentle voice turning to steel. 

Shiro eases a little, reassured. His soft sobs dwindle and stop. “I love you,” he whispers. 

Curtis freezes, half wondering if Takashi is only saying it because he’s still drunk, or if he really means it. But it surprises him to find he wants to say it back. And that he does mean it. Maybe it’s too soon, but maybe tomorrow the other man won’t even remember it this happened. He’d been pretty inebriated at the party. “I love you, too, Takashi.” 

“I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

“I’m not. I’m always so glad when you wake me, I’m happy I get to return the favor.” He curls himself tighter around Shiro, working a bit to push his face next to Shiro’s to kiss him easier. Shiro finally pulls his face free of Curtis’ shoulder and kisses him back. He tastes like copper and salt. 

Curtis idly strokes  Takashi ’s hair until he falls asleep, lost in thought. They haven’t really been dating all that long. But sleeping together feels natural. Then again since he started his nightly visits to the commander’s quarters on the Atlas, it’s felt more strange to try and sleep without seeing  Takashi  first. Not that they’d admit it, but towards the end of the mission they’d started falling asleep in the room together. And once or twice, just once or twice, they’d slept in the bed. Not quite together, but not apart either. 

Considering he has nightmares of his own, it’s nice to wake up and see the other man next to him, whole and alive. He wishes it was easier for  Takashi  to pull himself out of the nightmares, but Curtis figures as many times as he’s had his head messed with, it’s a miracle he’s not insane. Or completely incapable of knowing fact from fiction.  Thankfully, Curtis always knows it’s a nightmare whenever he wakes up from one of his own. There’s never anything else to dwell on.  All of his involve being buried alive, or of the endless digging in rubble and just finding bloody pieces.

Curtis shudders a bit at the thought, and he’s surprised when Takashi shifts in his sleep, curling closer in response to his distress . While it doesn’t wake him, his eyebrows still furrow and he doesn’t relax again until Curtis does. He hadn’t realized he’d clenched up just thinking about that day. The months... trying to rebuild and piece buildings and people back together. Letting out a soft sigh, he forces his focus away. 

Kissing  Takashi ’s forehead gently he lets himself fall back asleep, comforted by the soft breathing and steady warmth of the man at his side. 

**

When Curtis’s alarm goes off he sighs and automatically tries to sit up to tap it off, but today he can’t. There’s a heavy weight on his chest and he feels a moment of panic before realizing the weight is  Takash i . Somehow, the other man has crawled half on top of him, and also kicked half the blankets off of them both. No wonder his feet are cold. Groaning a little, he works his way out from under the other man who only starts to wake up when he’s halfway shoved onto the mattress. 

“Whassat?” Shiro asks, rubbing at his eyes. 

“Just my alarm,” Curtis reassures him, leaning over and tapping it off. Slipping out of bed he fixes the covers a little, picking up his blanket from off the floor with a sigh. He’d rather crawl back in bed with the beautiful man lying in it, but he has to work. He grabs fresh underclothes along with his uniform, and heads into the bathroom. He’ll kick Takashi out after breakfast. 

Shiro, meanwhile, wakes himself up and heads to the kitchen. He remembers everything that he said last night, and he is kicking himself.  _ What kind of asshole tells someone they love them for the first time after a night of partying and drinking? Did he mean it? Yes. Did Curtis? Maybe? Maybe he just said it back? Or maybe he said it because he was drunk? _ Veronica told like ten people she loved them. Even Axca said it to one or two people who told her hair was pretty. Tequila had hit the Galra female hard. Then again, it had hit all of them like a mallet. 

Glad he’s not hungover, at the very least, he rubs his palm over his pants trying to dry it. There’s no reason to be this uncomfortable. Curtis might not even remember what happened last night. He might have been near blackout drunk,  too . Or maybe he’ll just want to pretend it was a dream. Rubbing at his face, he glances up when he hears footsteps. He feels his heart rate increase, idly chewing his lip he winces having forgotten he’d bitten it badly the night before. 

“I made breakfast, I hope that’s okay,” he says, turning pink. “I should have asked first, but you were in the shower, and we didn’t talk about it beforehand…” Then under his breath, “But we were both kinda drunk and I wasn’t sure you’d even want me here today at all, and-” 

“Breakfast sounds great,” Curtis cuts him off before he can keep rambling. “I wouldn’t have invited you back here if I didn’t want you here. Drunk or not,” Curtis promises. Then frowns a little, “Do you regret being here?” The other man seems off, somehow. It’s not like he hasn’t slept over before. Although usually not on a work night. They’ve usually planned out breakfast, but that doesn’t seem like enough to have completely rattled him like this. He’s usually somewhat unflappable unless flirting is involved.

“What?” Shiro chokes on some water he’d been sipping. Couldn’t find any tea or coffee. He continues to splutter and choke as Curtis comes ‘round the small counter to smack him on the back a few times. “No, no, I just thought… I just thought maybe you wouldn’t… Not everyone wants to wake up next to a broken soldier,” he laughs self effacingly. 

“Okay first of all, whoever called you that, I’m killing them, and then… we’ve been dating a while. I have woken up next to you several times and never once thought of you as broken.  And last night we said some things, and I’m kind of wondering if maybe we moved too fast? Judging by the fact you are babbling like some kind of crazy person and I’ve never seen you like this before.” 

“Keith beat you to it,” Shiro says quietly, looking at the counter. Then back up at Curtis. “I meant it,” he says softly, not realizing that was their first time, and he’d had to go and say it after a nightmare like some kind of cretin. “I meant it. I don’t take it back. I’m sorry, I just. I guess I still have some trouble believing I got this lucky,” he looks away, not wanting to meet Curtis’ gaze. 

“Well good, because I would have taken my time with them.” Lightly resting his hand on  Takash i ’s back, he squeezes his eyes shut for a second. “I don’t take it back, either. And sometimes I still feel starstruck around you, so I guess we’re even. Famous pilot. Famous paladin. Famous commander and space pioneer. Turns out you’re nowhere near as cool as I was lead to believe?” 

“Mm?” he raises an eyebrow, not too sure where this is going because initially it was reassuring. 

Curtis grins. “You told me you loved me, and then less than eight hours later you panicked over it. Like a teenager. We’re nearing thirty, Takashi… I think you should be able to handle dating a little better,” he teases gently, kissing the other man soundly. 

“Okay, all valid points counselor, but in my defense I’ve had one boyfriend.” 

Grin falling, Curtis nods a little. Adam. Who has died, and left that shadow over them. Not as if Curtis’ situation is any better. His fiance had died in the bombings. Trapped under a building. “And I’ve had three, so you’re right, I am better at this. And everything else, so we’re even. You’re extremely pretty, so you can be the trophy boyfriend, and I’ll be the brains.”  

Cracking up a little, Shiro rolls his eyes and passes Curtis a bowl of oatmeal. “I couldn’t find the stuff I’d usually make, but uh, I hope it’s okay I raided the fruit…” 

“That’s what it’s for, so it’s fine.” He can tell his partner has added some honey to the oat and fruit mix, and it smells good. A small taste reveals cinnamon and maybe nutmeg, too, he’s not sure, but definitely something to give it a little flavor.  He kisses Shiro’s cheek again, and grins when Shiro turns his head so their noses bump. He’d never imagined the man on the bridge would be so affectionate. So willing to touch and be touched. It had gone the other way for Curtis, he couldn’t stand it. Then the loneliness had gotten to him and he’d hopped bar to bar, sleeping with total strangers with total indifference. Probably why he and  Takashi  haven’t been any kind of intimate yet, he can’t stand the idea of treating the other man the way he treated the men he hooked up with. 

“Hunk taught me to make it taste better… and since dairy makes me sick, he recommended almond milk instead of water. Which you don’t have, but that’s okay I put milk in yours.” 

“Oh, I can keep some almond milk around for you,” Curtis says, surprised. Now that he thinks about it, he’s never seen  Takashi  eat ice cream, or order a milkshake, or anything involving dairy. “I never even paid attention, I’m sorry.” 

“You know all my favorite foods and drinks,” he shrugs. “I think you pay pretty good attention.” 

“I just never noticed there was a trend there.” 

“I mean I can just take a pill if I really want some ice cream or pizza, but the stuff I missed most was stuff from home, not….” he trails off, then spoons up a mouthful of oatmeal to avoid talking more. He just is not acting smoothly this morning at all. 

“Japan, you mean?” 

“Yeah,” he shrugs, voice muffled by the food in his mouth. 

“We should visit,” Curtis says with a half shrug, not thinking much of it. Then he realizes he’s more or less proposed a relatively involved vacation with the man he’s only been dating a few months. Formally dating anyway. They’ve known each other a while. “Obviously not now, or not at all if you don’t want to,” he backpedals. 

Shiro grins a little, at least it’s not just him who puts his foot in his mouth sometimes. “Maybe. I don’t know how welcome I’d be some places, but. Overall it should be fine. The ‘Japanese’ food you can get around the Garrison is nothing like the real thing, just so you know.” 

“What, you mean the Filipino guy making my Chinese style stir fry at the local Korean-Japanese fusion restaurant isn’t authentic?” 

Shiro is glad he’d managed to swallow the oatmeal before it came out his nose. He laughs, shaking his head a little. “I happen to like that restaurant,” he adds mock defensively. 

“I do too, obviously, or I wouldn’t eat there,” Curtis points out, eyes dancing with laughter. “I gotta head out in a few here, you almost done?” he asks, getting up and rinsing his bowl out before stacking it in the dishwasher. 

“Yeah, ‘m good.” 

“Always, but, Takashi?” 

“Mm?”

“Maybe don’t leave in my pajama pants?” 

“Quiznak!” his eyes widen and he looks down. Well, he’d remembered to change shirts. Stuffing his mouth with the last few bites, he rinses the bowl and stacks in it by Curtis’ as he rushes into the bedroom to drag on his jeans and toss the pants in the direction of the hamper.  He’d borrowed clothes from Curtis since this hadn’t been a planned sleepover. They’re around the same size. Curtis is a little taller, but Shiro’s a little more muscular. Either way the shirt and pants had been comfortable.  He rushes back out of the bedroom, patting his back pocket to check for his comm and wallet . It feels strange carrying those things around again. 

“Ready?” Curtis asks, small work bag slung over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m sorry!” 

“Slow down Space-Man Spiff, I’m not gonna be late or anything,” he laughs, as Shiro half bolts to the door, heading over quickly to tap the elevator button and looking back at him guiltily. “It’s no big deal.” 

When the elevator finally comes up, Shiro’s glad it’s empty. Their relationship, and being out… in the world still feels strange. Not wrong, he doesn’t feel guilty about it. It’s just that his life is so much more public now. He and Adam had just been… private. Sure, they were out, and everyon e in the Garrison  knew they were a couple. It was just, no one outside the Garrison knew anything about them. The Garrison published flight records and stats, but that’s all Shiro was to the outside world. Some numbers and an ID photo. And sure, he’d also done some promotional interviews and visited a few schools, but it’s nowhere near the same thing or the same kind of popularity and hounding he faces now. Quite frankly he hates being seen in public and often wears a disguise of some kind to avoid being bothered. 

Pidge stays on base a lot, now that her entire family also works there, and Hunk is currently up in space building his culinary empire. Shiro misses him a lot more than he’d anticipated. Keith is off-world with The Blade, but he’s in touch. Lance acts as Earth’s official ambassador to Altea, while Coran is Altea’s ambassador to the Coalition. Lance tends to travel between the planets a lot. Currently he’s probably with his family, he had missed them horribly in space and enjoys catching up with them. Sometimes he visits the Garrison. Keith typically won’t, even when invited. Not that Shiro really has gone back since, either. Too many stares. 

“You realize we’re alone in an elevator, and you’re staring at your shoes, right?” Curtis asks him gently, squeezing his hand. “You okay?” 

“What? Oh! Yeah I’m okay, sorry. I just lost my hat last night, and I was thinking about how annoying it was going to be going home.” 

“This hat?” Curtis asks, dragging it out of his uniform pocket. 

“What the hell….?” 

“I found it on the floor this morning and I wasn’t too sure if it was yours or not because I can’t remember you wearing one. And I was pretty hammered, so I figured I could have taken it from someone on accident or maybe someone just gave it to me.” 

“Well. Thanks,” Shiro says taking it back. Putting it on, he squeaks when Curtis flips it around and kisses him. He wraps his arms around the other man and leans back into the metal wall of the elevator so he can keep his balance, and kisses him back contentedly . When they reach the last floor, Curtis flips his hat back around, tips his head to give him one last kiss and darts out of the elevator. He knows how much  Takashi  hates when people stop them, and it’s easier if they leave separately. Or at least try to. 

Curtis makes it to his car unmolested, and glances back to see his partner ducking around a group with his head down and hands stuffed in his pocket. There’s really no hiding that oversized arm, though. Or the blue glow, not even under fabric reall y. He shakes his head in amusement when Shiro ducks down a side alley.  He knows he’ll make it home safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed it!   
> I'm not gonna lie to you guys my favorite parts are closer to chapter 5, but yanno. Chapter 2 needs some reworking and editing, so as soon as prodigalra and I have both finished with it -again- it'll go up.   
> If you liked this chapter pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeasssssssseee comment. Believe it or not, the more comments I get the more hyped I get to write more and interact and check in. So let me know your thoughts, let me know if you caught the Calvin and Hobbes reference.   
> And if anyone has seen Red Dwarf, keep an eye out.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shiro kind of just sadsacks around.

**Chapter 2:**

By the time he makes it back to his own apartment, he’s dodged several gaggles of fans, and quite a few reporters and paparazzi. All asking questions he can’t answer. Half the time because he doesn’t know, the other half because it’s too painful and it’s no one’s business. ‘How did you lose the arm Shiro?’ Clenching his jaw as he palms the lock to his room, he slumps against the door when it wooshes shut. 

Now what to do with himself all day? Right, there’s a gym inside his building. That could take up a few hours. At least until lunch. 

He changes into workout clothing, sleek black pants that wick moisture, and a matching top. He feels like he’s wearing the undersuit for his paladin armor when he wears this specific set of workout gear. The collar is a little high around his neck, but not as high as the suit was. Looping the thumb hole over his flesh hand, he sighs at the prosthetic. Why can’t he just have an arm like his old one? He presses open the door to the power source to stare at Allura’s crystal for a few minutes, before he snaps out of it, shuts the little hatch and heads down to the gym. 

It feels like crap trying to lift weights with one overpowered arm, and the muscles in his back ache from trying to compensate. Giving up pretty quickly, he hops on the treadmill and turns up the incline to mimic pavement. A few miles in and he’s sweating and gasping for air. It’s a hard adjustment, the lower gravity in space, the different oxygen levels… he’d rather be out running at a park or something anyway.  He slows down the treadmill before eventually stepping off , and thinks maybe he can work on his legs, at least . Either way he’s warmed up, so he stretches out and then goes over to the other machines, losing himself in the give and take of the weights for a while. 

At some point he realizes he’s not moving anymore, his legs are too shaky to do another rep.  He sighs and wobble s his way free of the squat machine and sits on a bench, giving his body a few seconds to breathe.  He shifts to the floor to stretch again before his muscles cramp. Then he forces himself up using the wall for support so he can drink from the fountain . Thank god there’s a lift in his building. He’s not sure he’d make it up six flights of stairs.

Full of water and remorse, he drags his way back to his apartment for a hot shower and lunch. Some microwaveable meal; he doesn’t feel like cooking. 

He turns on the holo and watches a few hours of mindless programming before finding a channel  later that afternoon that plays vintage sci-fi shows. It promises several hours of the old series affectionately abbreviated down to TOS.  He almost falls when he gets up to make popcorn , his legs are so tired. “Smeg.” Deciding the popcorn is still worth it for the episode marathon, he drags himself into his kitchen and shoves a packet in the microwav e. So much for a healthy dinner.

When that’s done, the sound of tiny little corn explosions making him grit his teeth, he settles back on the couch to snack and watch for however many hours he can. He had other friends before all of this. People he could have spent time with. But now they’re dead, or missing presumed dead. Half annoyed at how pathetic he’s let himself be, he’s also too tired to really do anything about it. 

Technically there’s nothing wrong with his life. He eats relatively well balanced meals, hydrates, works out, and tries to log around eight hours of sleep a night. He is dating, which means technically he has a social life. “Oh, not the brain episode,” he complains to himself , as the fifth - no, sixth? - episode in the marathon starts. He tosses  a piece of popcorn at the screen. “I hate this episode.” This would be more fun if Keith was around. Or literally anyone. His legs are too tired to carry him to the bed or he’d just turn it off and go to sleep rather than watch it. But since he’s stuck out here anyway, he might as well keep watching. 

When his comm pad starts beeping he starts awake, knocking the now empty popcorn bag off his chest, spilling unpopped kernels across the floor. 

It’s still dark outside. The holo is playing something trying to sell some kind of space knives, and his neck is so stiff he can barely turn his head. He tries to turn or stretch it, and winces when his neck makes an audible popping noise.

Able to move his head a bit, he grabs the pad up off the little coffee table and he groans when he sees the time as he swipes to answer. “Hello?” he asks groggily. The sun’s not even up yet. 

“Shiro?” 

“Coran?” 

“I was hoping you could give me a ride from the space port? It looks like whoever the Garrison was supposed to send didn’t show.” 

“Uh, yeah I can do that. Everything okay?” 

“I am enjoying a…” there’s some muttering in the background and Shiro rolls his eyes. “A tiramisu cake. It’s very good. Along with something this lovely vendor is calling an espresso.” 

He claps his palm to his forehead. Caffeinated aliens are the last thing he needs at 0400 hours .  He changes into something that isn’t covered in popcorn grease and the little shells, and he grabs his hat and aviators before stepping into his shoes and heading out the door. His legs ache from the abuse he’d put them through the day before. Groaning internally at each step, he heads to the elevator and punches in P1.

He has a car in the building’s garage for all he rarely uses it. Muttering to himself the entire way as he unlocks it, gets in, and drives to the port, he’s not sure he can handle Coran speeding on coffee right now. But he supposes he’ll have to. It doesn’t occur to him to wonder why Coran is there, or what might have gone wrong that no one was there to pick him up. 

“ Hey, I’m here, what gate are you at? ” Shiro taps into the pad once he pulls up. He groans when rather than texting back, Coran calls. 

“I am at the 10th gate, I believe. Arrivals, let me see here, 10C Dash A.” 

“10C-A, got it. Alright, I’ll be there in a few ticks.”

Coran blinks at his comm when it goes dark, the call cancelling almost immediately. “Hm, I certainly don’t remember him ever being so grumpy.” While he’s waiting, he can’t help but bounce around on the balls of his feet. He’s excited to see the former paladin, and always is happy to visit Earth for a bit. Run into the Holts at the Garrison and other old friends from the Atlas. When he sees Shiro pull up he waves broadly, going up on tiptoes so there’s no way the earthing could miss him. 

Shiro rolls his eye s under the sunglasses, and leans over to pop the door open once he’s pulled flush with the curb. “No luggage?” he asks. 

“Already sent to the Garrison. Without me, I’m afraid.” 

“Weird.” 

“Yes, quite. How are you?” 

“I’m good, it’s good to see you,” Shiro forces a quick smile. “Let’s get you over there and see what’s going on, okay?” 

“Sounds good,” Coran agrees pleasantly. “So what have you been up to since you chose to acquit yourself of the Garrison?” 

“Not much, resting, I guess. Reading a lot. Y’know, the normal things you do, I guess.” 

“Any thoughts to the future?” 

“Not really,” he says, for all he turns red thinking about Curtis. They’re not really at that point where he’s sure it’s in his future, but they feel so right together. Even with his life feeling so empty and stupid right now. It’s not as if he’d ever expected to have a future. Kerberos would have been his last mission. Then he would have wasted away and died, a weakened has-been. Everything feels like such a mess now, since he hadn’t bothered to plan for anything after that.  

Half the time he can’t even sleep. His mind puts him back in his cell night after night. Forces him to relive the droids pacing back and forth on the other side of the door, and he’s waiting for the Druids to create another painful mind game and break him down further. During those times, he had dreamed of Adam coming to save him, not Curtis. He’d barely known Curtis from any other junior officer at the time. The metallic stomp of the droids walking up and down the halls, up and down. Over and over and over like clockwork.

“You alright there, Shiro?” 

“Huh?” he asks, realizing he’s white-knuckling the steering wheel and hasn’t heard anything Coran’s said for the past few minutes. “Sorry, it’s just really early and I stayed up late, I’m sorry Coran,” he apologizes sincerely. “I am glad to see you, I’d just be more alert if it was later in the day,” he forces a weak chuckle. 

“Fair enough then, it’s well after midday on Altea right now, so I’m wide-awake. If you’d caught me when I first launched out here, however, I’d be just as tired as you are now. Would you like it if I stopped pestering you?” 

“What? No, no it’s fine. It’s not a long drive, and I can just go back to sleep once we get back. Don’t worry about it. How’re the Alteans doing?” 

“They’re coming along quite nicely! I think we might have a few with the gift to be alchemists, but I unfortunately don’t have anything to teach them. Another thing we’ve lost, I suppose. But! We are seeing plenty of children learning their culture and their history, and the adults, too!”

“Has Romelle finally learned how to curse properly?” Shiro teases, glad the conversation is back in safer waters. For all it feels like a knife to the heart to hear about the alchemists. Allura could have taught them so much. He bites his lip for a second to ground himself, and then nods along to Coran’s tales of Altean misadventures. 

He tunes back in about when the gates appear in view, to hear “Hunk stopped by recently, not sure how long ago, honestly, but he shared with us some Altean recipes he’d been trying. We’ve been working on perfecting them ever since. I brought some with me, but they’re with my travel gear. Never fear! I will save some for you if you’d like!” 

“That’d be great Coran, thanks,” he says pleasantly. Pulling up to the gates, “This is where I leave you. I’ll make sure your clearance codes work before I drive off, though, I promise,” he laughs. 

“Fair enough!” Coran agrees cheerfully. 

Shiro breathes a sigh of relief when seconds after Coran types in the code, the gates start to open. He gives Coran a little mocking salute, sees it returned, and backs up the car to find more space to turn it around and head home.

** 

He finds out later via exuberant voicemail that one of the cadets incorrectly input the time zones, and dispatched someone three hours after Coran had arrived. Even though Shiro had already dropped him off.  Thankful that the voicemail was nothing more serious , he drops off to sleep for a while. 

When he wakes up, his mouth is dry. Rubbing at his face, he gets up and heads into the kitchen and sets his comm down on the counter to pour some water before situating himself on the couch for a continuation of the TOS marathon. Apparently this is a daily event that cycles through all the episodes until it hits the end and then restarts. 

When the intrepid captain is captured and forced to battle some sort of space lizard, Shiro internally winces, rubbing at his non-existent shoulder.  He’d forgotten, for just a moment, that the new prosthetic had left a void where his upper arm should be. He starts and stares at the absence. Right. Well at least there's no more scars from double rows of teeth across his shoulder, he supposes. The thing had bitten him from behind and he had put his thumb through its eye before it would let go. Nothing else had worked. He'd tried so many things before he did that. 

He’d gotten a grip on its lip, and had literally ripped a chunk away along the gumline. All that had done was make it bleed viscous yellow fluid and look even scarier. Ripping open a nostril hadn't worked either, he'd been trying so hard to get any kind of purchase on the scales… finally he'd just reached back and gouged out its eyes. 

He'd thrown up later, sick from the feel of the eye bursting under his fingertips, and from pain. He can't bring himself to eat grapes anymore. They used to be one of his favorite snacks. 

After a few more episodes he eases into sleep. 

_ In the arena, sometimes he has the option simply to win. Sometimes the stadium screams for blood and he is forced to kill. Forced to behead his opponent, or in the rare cases that fails, find some other way to serve a fatal blow.  _

_ This alien is humanoid. Not much larger than he is. Its skin is soft like suede under his fingers when he reaches out to rip at the flesh, seeking to cause damage any way possible. They didn't give him a weapon, they expect him to take it. But it's not as if he needs it. That's half the fun for the Galra. See how the human will kill without a weapon. Can he do it injured? How long can the human go without food and still reign as Champion?  _

_ He has a feeling this alien doesn't enjoy this any more than he does. He's kept in isolation. Too violent to be trusted among the other prisoners. Bloodthirsty. Then again he had been provoked.  _

_ No, don't let your mind wander. It has knives.  _

_ One scores along his arm, moments of distraction costing him reaction time. Anger curls low in his stomach. Another scar. Another awful battle etched into his flesh. He'll never be allowed to forget. Assuming he lives long enough to get home.  _

_ Rage and fear fuel him as he lunges desperately forward, locked in a desperate struggle for the dagger. Finally he wrests it away, hands, arms, torso all bleeding from a plethora of shallow cuts. Slashing wildly backwards with it, he scores deep, the blade catching in bone. Blood sprays across his face, hot and thick. It half blinds him. This time the alien blood is oddly sweet. He spits but can't avoid the taste coating his teeth and tongue. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision, and jerks his head back on pure instinct raising his arm and- _

Wakes up on the floor, heart pounding. He'd won that fight by putting his dagger through the roof of her mouth. Remembering the smell of the blood, the taste, the oily sensation of it… Shiro manages to roll over before he vomits. 

He forces himself up from the floor when he’s done. The ever-present blue glow from his arm reveals he hadn’t eaten much today. He tries to get to his feet, but  doubles over when his gut cramps and he heaves again. This time nothing but acid comes up, burning his throat on the way. Coughing and retching he struggles for air before getting himself under control. 

The mess is on laminate, and he looks at it dispassionately. He feels like he's still splattered with blood. Finally on his feet he stumbles to the bathroom and turns the water on. Frantically peeling off sweaty clothes he lets them drop in a heap and steps into the spray. He doesn't even wait for the water to warm all the way, the need is so imperative. He has to wash the blood off. 

Being clean is a luxury. Occasionally the Galra permitted him to bathe. More often they just hosed down the cells with the occupants inside. He could never get to the panel in the ceiling to pull it down. No way to get any leverage. Even when it was open and spraying water he couldn't figure out a way to take advantage other than to try and scrub off as much foulness as possible before it was too late and the water stopped. Sometimes it was the only drink he got that day. 

At some point he can't stand anymore, violent shaking overtaking him. Drawing his knees to his chest, he is so thankful the water in the shower sounds nothing like the water in his cell. Not to mention it's warm. Head dropped to his knees, the next thing he knows he's tipping over and the water is ice cold. 

He's so chilled his limbs are numb, not to mention everything's fallen asleep.  He turns the water off with his metal hand,  since  the flesh one is too cold to grip the tap . He can't stand, not really, and drags himself over the lip of the tub to sprawl in an ungraceful heap on the bathmat. Teeth chattering, he gets ahold of his towel, taking advantage of the unfeeling metal to dry himself off. Cold and heat don't affect something that has no sensation.  He manages to stand up, and staggers into his bedroom. 

You're Broken. Useless. Worthless. 

H e crawls under the blankets and drags  them around himself, huddling into a ball. He imagines if he was shaking any harder he'd vibrate into another plane of existence. 

He wakes up some time later, not sure what time of day it is. But in space it hadn't mattered. No reason it should now, he has nowhere he has to be. 

When his memory slowly trickles in, he reddens even though there's no one to see. He hates the scars on his body. They're gruesome. A record of his kills. His perfect record of winning and murdering anyone who got in his way. A reminder he found the winning in and of itself satisfactory. Or at least The Champion did. The Galra washed Takashi Shirogane away in a sea of blood. The Champion lived in his place. No joy, no happiness, just grim determination. He would win. He would do whatever was necessary, and he would go home to warn them the Galra were coming.

Takashi Shirogane had been soft, weak; an explorer and pilot. He had thought some martial arts training and some Garrison mandated arms training would keep him safe. He was strong. He had to be, with a disease rotting him from the inside out. But he could never have survived the horrors the Galra inflicted on him. The cutting, slicing, dicing, starving, beating, shocking, dismembering agony was too much. The Champion however, held onto it and more. Although the line between them blurred more and more over time. He couldn't keep all the horror and pain locked away forever. Especially now that things were peaceful and he had no all consuming mission keeping him focused. 

After he dresses and heads out into the kitchen for cleaning supplies and water, figuring he should probably handle that before it gets worse. His comm is occasionally emitting a soft beep and the notification light pulses every so often. Lifting it up he sees a missed call and a few messages. 

1600 LT. WILLIAMS: Want to meet after work for dinner? 

1630 LT. WILLIAMS: ?

1730 LT. WILLIAMS: Not to be that guy, but usually you answer in about 15 minutes, we don’t have to meet up, but let me know you’re okay. You don’t owe me prompt responses this just feels weird.

  1. WILLIAMS Missed call at 1830. Voicemail transcript: 



I’m sure you think I’m a freak, so I hope you’ll forgive me anyway. Maybe your comm is dead, or you’re asleep, or just busy. That’s fine, I just get antsy. You can ask Veronica. So many people went missing that I kind of can’t help getting nervous. Not your problem, ugh, I’m awful at this… Anyway. If you think I’m unstable and freaky that’s fair. I won’t blame you. Uh, if it’s all a big misunderstanding we could do dinner tomorrow? Ugh...sorry. I’ll stop making an absolute ass of myself now. 

Shiro smiles at the comm a little. He feels guilty, he hadn’t even realized. And quickly taps out a response: 

0230 TAKASHI SHIROGANE

Sorry! You’re not a freak. Well, maybe a little. I fell asleep and then showered and went to bed and didn’t realize my comm was in the kitchen. Never heard or saw it. (1/2)

Dinner tomorrow sounds great. We can try that new fusion place Hunk helped start? Unless you had something different in mind? If i don’t answer just come by. (2/2) 

0231 TAKASHI SHIROGANE 

Really sorry I worried you. If the situation was reverse I’d be worried, too. See you at 1700 tomorrow? Srsly if I fall asleep again just come wake my stupid ass up. 

0530 LT C. WILLIAMS

Glad you’re OK. Sorry I was a freak. Will definitely come break your door down as requested. 

0532 LT C. WILLIAMS

Joking about the door. Promise. 

0800 TAKASHI SHIROGANE 

That’s good. The landlord might not appreciate it. I will change early so worst case all you have to do is knock and I’ll wake up ready to leave. 

1200 LT C. WILLIAMS 

Then your clothes will look all wrinkled like you slept in them. Am I not worth looking nice for? 

1202 TAKASHI SHIROGANE 

Repayment for the voicemail. 

1204 LT C. WILLIAMS 

Fair enough. 

1207 TAKASHI SHIROGANE

I will just lay clothes out… just for you… this once. 

1210 LT C. WILLIAMS

It’ll be worth it. 

1211 TAKASHI SHIROGANE

I hope so. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to Prodigalra for beta'ing. I am so sorry.   
> Kudos to them, please. Send them nice messages on tumblr. They do this for free. On their own time. Seriously. Go say thanks.  
> If you liked this chapter please hit me up with comments, hit the kudos, something!   
> You can find me at stressedspidergirlsfandomblog -and see other chunks of the fic already posted. Unedited, and out of order, but y'know what it's fine.   
> There's more for sure, we're just working on polishing it up and getting it ready. It'll go up as soon as we have time! (hopefully in about a week?)   
> Lemme know what y'all thought!


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here there be nightmares.   
> (and fluff.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: violent nightmares. Implied torture. Avoid writing in italics if that's not your jam.   
> Thanks again to prodigalra for beta'ing. At this point they probably deserve their own writing credit. (I know you say you like this fic, but dear god I'm p sure it'd be unreadable w/o you, so I'm not sure what you saw in it. >.> But thank you for editing it and cleaning it up!)   
> Props to Yalejosie for recommending I post this. Her fic is 99% fluff if anyone's interested in fluff after this chapter.

Shiro realizes that he doesn’t own anything that would be considered “nice” other than his Garrison uniform. His workout clothes are grossly inappropriate for a date, but odds are Curtis will still be in uniform. As much as wearing the uniform still holds lots of feelings he would rather not address just yet, knowing he’s going to match Curtis makes him feel more comfortable about the choice to put his on again . He has managed to stay awake the whole day, and spent most of it cleaning his apartment for lack of anything better to do. 

After a night out they usually go back to Curtis’ place for a bit, and then Shiro goes home from there. Or sometimes ends up staying the night if it’s too late to really get back. On work nights, at least, the intention is never for him to spend the night. Curtis needs to be alert and fit for duty in the mornings, not that there’s much need to worry about an alien invasion anymore. The Galra is part of the Coalition. And after centuries of war, no other species has felt the need to take up the flag of war. 

It’s been interesting, watching the Garrison shift from a base in space exploration with a speciality in fighter planes, to a full on military installation and now a merger of the two. The war is over. There are planets to visit, aliens to meet, technology to be both gained and shared. Some part of Shiro wishes he was still a part of it. The rest of him can’t stand the thought of going up there again just yet. The Universe has already taken so much from him. 

He knows nothing will keep him out of the stars for long, but he wants it to be on his own terms when he returns. No more missions. No more wars.  Going out there for the sake of exploring. Nothing more, nothing less. 

When Curtis arrives looking neat and clean in his uniform, Shiro is glad he keeps his hanging neatly in his closet. He would hate to look disheveled right now.  He’s even done his best to make sure his hair is neatly brushed and casually styled. 

Curtis’ smile when he sees the results make it all worth the time and anxiety to look good. He whistles softly as he looks the other man up and down appreciatively , “Hey there handsome. You sure clean up nice.” 

Shiro blushes faintly, but steps in to give Curtis a kiss. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” he grins. 

Raising an eyebrow he purses his lips in mock offense, “That’s the nicest thing you can say to me?” 

“Well I guess I’ll have to make it up to you, Lieutenant,” Shiro grins, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s shoulders to kiss him. 

When the alarm on Curtis’ watch buzzes, they reluctantly break apart. They don’t want to miss the reservation. For all Shiro wouldn’t have minded having to postpone it, he’s also glad of the excuse to stop before his potential problem becomes a real buzzkill. 

They have a nice night out, good food, this time they avoid having anything to drink. Maybe if he’s not drunk he won’t have such awful nightmares. Not that being sober has ever really changed anything, but a man can hope. When Curtis suggests they free up the table and go talk at his place, or watch a movie, Shiro agrees easily enough. He knows that Curtis doesn’t mean anything more than he says. They have kissed, and kissed a lot, but they haven’t pushed the boundary of physical intimacy any further than that. If he’s being honest with himself, Shiro doesn’t want to go near it. This clone body isn’t his, and so far it doesn’t quite do all the things he’s used to. Or at least, the things he was used to before the disease started eating away at him. 

When they get back to Curtis’ apartment , they curl up under a throw on the couch and start watching some harmless program Shiro doesn’t quite catch the name of. He can hardly focus on it at all. His mind keeps drifting all over the place. It would be nice if he could remember how to focus on things for more than a few minutes at a time. Thankfully Curtis doesn’t seem to need to carry a conversation about the show, so Shiro is able to space out in peace. 

After a few episodes, he yawns so hard his jaw cracks.

“It’s late,” Curtis says apologetically, kissing Takashi’s temple gently. 

“We always do this,” Shiro shrugs, arching his back to stretch out on the couch, arms reaching up and out. 

“Not always. I’d say it’s a pretty even 50-50 split,” he shifts a little so he can face his boyfriend easier. 

“I guess,” Shiro shrugs back. Honestly he usually makes it home before too late, but 00:30  is quite a bit later than they usually let their evenings go .  Plus, Curtis drove them tonigh t, so then Curtis would have to take him home, and get even less sleep before having to go to work. 

Curtis leans forward and gives Shiro a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll get ready first, and lay out some clothes for you,” he offers. 

“Sure. Thanks. Do you need me to set an alarm or anything for you?” 

“Nah, it’s pre-set, Monday through Friday.” He stretches out, and pads into the bedroom to dig around for some sweats and a shirt for his partner before heading into the bathroom to brush his teeth and change. When he comes out he’s unsurprised Shiro has changed already.  As he passes the bedroom door, he sees that Takashi has laid his uniform out neatly over the back of the couch so it won’t wrinkle. 

“I would have loaned you a hanger.” 

“It’s fine,” Shiro shrugs. “I can stay out of your way this morning a lot easier,” he smiles. Taking his own turn in the bathroom, it occurs to him that he should just leave a toothbrush here. But he can make do without once or twice a month. It’s not as if he routinely spends the night. As long as he manages to get some toothpaste and mouthwash he’s fine. Not that brushing his teeth with his finger is ideal, but it works. Every time it occurs to him if he should ask about bringing a toothbrush, he forgets before he can bother to ask if it’s okay. It’s not as if he thinks Curtis would mind. Then again maybe it would feel too permanent. Shiro shakes his head a little, he doesn’t feel like worrying about it. He hadn’t planned on sleeping over; he forgot a toothbrush.

It takes a little rearranging  when they get into bed , but eventually they settle down. Curtis rests across Shiro's chest comfortably. The steady beating of the other man’s heart a soothing lullaby  creating a wall between him and nightmares made of screams and explosions. He loves how Takashi lightly drapes an arm over his back. It makes him feel safe and warm, but it doesn’t make him feel trapped, either. Sometimes when they end up flipping positions he feels like he can’t breathe,  though he knows that it’s never intentional on Takashi’s part. 

Curtis falls asleep easily and quickly, tired from working a long shift and the subsequent date afterward. 

**

Shiro twists in his sleep, mumbling protests and pleas. Sweat plasters his pajamas to his body, thick enough to start soaking into his sheets.

“No, no, no, no!”

_ Not again. He can’t watch them kill her again. At least she’d seemed feminine to him. With aliens who really could be sure? He had beaten her in a battle. It had been grueling, and he’d barely survived it. The crowd had been screaming for blood. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her. Kill her. Unworthy. Defeated. Blood.  _

Curtis sits up in the dark, looking around. His heart thuds against his chest. Nothing there. No one there but Shiro.

_ He’d been sick to his stomach. It wasn’t his first match, but this was the first time he’d had to work so hard to win. Had come so close. He would have given anything to not be in that arena. But this was the first time they were calling for death. He hadn’t had to execute anyone yet, for all he’d seen the slaughter before. Waiting for his turn to face certain death. The unending terror.  _

“Takashi?” He asks in confusion. There has to be some reason he’s awake. The small clock flashes 02:13.

_ He’d refused. He couldn’t kill her. He’d won. She was defenseless on the ground barely conscious. The crowd screamed in rage when he refused, weapon clattering to the ground. I won’t do it. I won’t be part of this. I won’t kill a defenseless person. I won’t stain my hands with the blood of innocents.  _

“Please stop, don’t, nonono, please!” Shiro groans in his sleep, twisting and kicking some.

_ And they had whipped him. Dragged him to his cell, and thrown him in.  _

“Damnit,” Curtis knows this dream. Or at least a variation of it.   Shiro thinks he’s strapped to the table again. These ones are the hardest to pull him out of. Half the time because he tangles himself in the sheets and panics.

_ Next time he came to he was shackled to the floor and she was strung up in front of him. She took hours to die.  _

_ After, they chained him down to the table and tortured him for what felt like days. Time had lost all meaning with no light, no regular meals, no contact with anyone but the robot sentries and his tormentors.  _

“Don’t take my arm, don’t, I’ll kill you all! No. Please no.”

Half wondering how this will end, Curtis gets up and turns on the lights on low. And grabs a trashcan in case it's one of those dreams that leaves Takashi puking his guts up. It’s almost impossible to wake him up, and if he does it quickly or violently he’ll make it worse.

So with shaking hands Curtis settles the trash can by the bed, refills the water they keep by the bed, and settles next to Shiro on the mattress, taking his left hand. “Okay Takashi. I need you to wake up now. I love you so much, and this kills me to watch. So tonight you’ll wake up easier than usual.”

Shiro twists again, hand clamping down on Curtis’.  He’s thankful it’s not the metal hand. Curtis has a feeling his bones would be turned to powder if it had been.

“Well, we need to get the blankets off,” he says reasonably. _ Stay calm. _ “Alright Takashi, just don’t freak out and kick me…” It's happened once. Curtis was only knocked on his ass. No harm done. He’s hit Shiro once. Just like he hit the relief worker who tried to get him to stop digging in the rubble.

He does his best to work the blankets free of Shiro’s body. The hardest part is just that Shiro hasn’t let go of his hand.

He knows pouring water on him doesn’t work. Shouting makes it worse. Yanking on him or shaking him usually makes it worse. Intensifies the nightmare more than anything else.

“You’re flailing too much for me to curl up with you.” That’s usually best, honestly. Wrap himself around Shiro and talk to him until he wakes up.

Kissing the back of Shiro's hand, Curtis does his best to slip behind him, avoiding the occasional twist and buck move that makes him sick to to his stomach. It tells him exactly where and how they had tied him up. And exactly how much practice Shiro has had trying to buck the restraints.

He curls his arm over Shiro’s middle, and tucks his head in tight between his shoulder blades so he won’t get elbowed in the head. He presses his forehead into Shiro’s spine, and lets the tears run over his cheeks. He’s trying to do his best to be reassuring as he starts talking into Shiro’s back:

“I’m so sorry they did all this to you. I’m so sorry you can remember it so vividly. But I’m here and we’re together. It’s over, it’s over. I need you to wake up. You’re worrying me… These night terrors scare the shit out of me, Takashi. Logically I know you’re doing better…and I can see it, too, but god, I can’t wait for these to ease up.”

When he feels a change in Takashi/Shiro’s body language he eases his body up firmly against his partner’s and holds him closer. “That’s it,” his voice shakes. “C'mon Takashi, wake up for me. Leave this behind.”  He’s pretty sure they cut Shiro's arm off in pieces. The things he says in his sleep, the way he sometimes looks at his hands…  Curtis can’t even imagine what that must have been like . Maybe they only took bits at a time to see what he could survive. How much of each finger did he need to hold a weapon? How many fingers at all? He knows about the clones.

Curtis tries to hold back a sob, but it rips out of him anyway.

“Curtis?” Shiro slurs, jolting half awake. He twists as best he can. “Did they hurt you, too?” He has nightmares it's not just him on the table. Sometimes it’s Curtis. Or Adam. Pidge. Allura. The other paladins. Iverson. Other people from his cadet days. Sometimes they’re not on the table, sometimes they take the place of the alien he watched die. Sometimes when he first wakes up he’s not sure what’s real and what isn’t.

Shifting all the way as Curtis loosens his grip,  Shiro asks “What’s wrong?”,  his hands frantically searching for blood or missing pieces. “What did they do? What did they take?”

Mastering himself a little,  Curtis replies, “It’s a nightmare. You’re having a nightmare. Or you were. It’s over. Takashi. I was never tortured with you.” The question makes him sick to his stomach. Maybe he’ll be the one needing the vomit bucket, not Takashi.  _ What did they take?  _ He swallows hard. 

Inhaling slowly and steadily, Shiro looks around.  _ Notice things. Ground yourself _ . Curtis is real. And upset. “Oh god, I didn't hurt you did I? In my sleep?” His hands start to search Curtis again, but far more gently this time.

“No. I’m okay. I’m okay, Takashi,” Curtis takes his hands and kisses both of Shiro's palms, one warm one cool. 

“I can… We don’t… This is a lot,” Shiro says. “I can understand if you don’t want to keep doing this.”

“No,” Curtis says sharply. Then softens his tone. “We both knew. Before we got too far in. We both knew. And you’re working through it. I’d rather have these nights with you than lose you.”

“Are you sure?” Shiro gives him a wry look. For all his eyes overflow with tears, completely ruining his attempt at composure.

“Yes, I'm sure. Do you want to leave me? When I wake you up?”

“No! How could you even ask me th-….” He looks away, nodding his head a little in understanding. “I would never fault you for your nightmares. Never.” 

“Then why would I fault you?” 

“I don’t… mine are more frequent? More … dramatic…” 

“If you recall one time as I was waking up I popped you in the face.” 

“One time.” 

“Did you want to leave me after that? Was our relationship suddenly not worth it?” 

“Of course not….” he trails off miserably. He’s not sure how to explain that he’s terrified of his inability to stop having these dreams. What if they never stop? What if he has these horrific nightmares the rest of his life? How long could anyone put up with it, night after night after night? “It’s just, I wouldn’t blame you…” 

“We both lived through some really ugly things, right?” Curtis asks softly. “Truly ugly. World alteringly ugly. I will  _ never _ hold it against you that the goodness in you is railing against the vileness of it. How could I?” 

Brushing tears off his face he squeezes the bridge of his nose for a second. “Are you sure about that? What if the nightmares never stop?” 

Curtis kisses the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure. Don’t ask me again unless you’re actually just looking for a way to break up with me.”

“I don’t want to break up with you,” Shiro says almost reproachfully. “I just don’t want you to wake u p one day and realize I have become your nightmare? ” 

Curtis reaches out with both his hands and frames Takashi’s face with his palms. Meeting his eyes, he waits patiently as Takashi looks away, and then back up at him, silvery eyelashes glittering with tears. “I knew you were having nightmares before I ever fell in love with you. And I respected you, and admired you, and worked alongside you. That’s never been an issue for me. It’s never going to start. Sure, I might drink more coffee some days, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay.”  He raises his eyebrows a little, and makes sure the other man is really watching him. “I don’t care about the bad dreams. I don’t care about the scars. I don’t care about the glowing arm. I love who you are.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. I haven't slept in a week, I had to hit up urgent care. And it's taken us... 3 days? 2 days? To edit this chapter into something worth reading?  
> Anyway, if you liked it, hit tumblr and thank @prodigalra for helping out. And don't forget to leave comments? My week has been a nightmare and it's what... Wednesday? Oh no it's only half done. :{   
> Let me know what you thought! Or just say hi! :} Thanks for reading and thanks for all the kudos people have left. <3


	5. Chap 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some time has passed, annnd... cute domesticity ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again to prodigalra for editing the crap out of this.  
> I am pretty sure I caught all the things we were working on, but I'm not sure I did. If I missed something yell at me and I'll go edit it.  
> But thank you thank you thank you. :}

**Chapter 4:**

Shiro leans his forehead against the toilet seat, and tries to take some deep breaths . He’d emptied his stomach a while ago. Every so often he’s still completely convulsed by dry heaving. Reliving them cutting his arm open. Or killing people in the arena.

Sweaty, miserable, and sore, he wonders if he still has time for a shower before Curtis gets there.

As another wave of nausea comes over him , he shifts so he’s at a more comfortable angle and won’t accidentally knock his arm off the seat and bang his head into the porcelain.

He hears the lock code being entered on his front door. It slides open and he hears Curtis come in and set down bags of groceries . “Takashi?” Curtis calls a little confused. Usually when Shiro knows he's coming he's  up and about . “Babe? You awake?” He calls softly.

“Fuck me,” Shiro mumbles, trying to get up before the dry heaving forces him back down. Curtis was going to make dinner. He could have sworn he’d only napped for half an hour or so. Maybe he’s been in the bathroom longer than he thought. Or he overslept. Every time he tries to gather himself he just makes the dry heaving worse. He can hear Curtis getting closer, his voice louder.

“Oh. That nervous about trying my cooking?” He gently smooths Shiro's hair. Crouching down, he gently runs his fingertips up and down Shiro's back.

“Screw you,” Shiro says weakly. There’s no bite to his words. He’s just embarrassed and uncomfortable. “If you wanna go, we can reschedule.”

“Nah. I’ll just make soup instead.”  He kisses the side of Shiro’s head. “It’s okay. If you recall about a month ago when I had the flu, I was much worse than this and you nursed me back to health.”

Shiro groans. “You were so sick it was like a scene from that vintage film The Exorcist. Don’t remind me.” He gags a little, trying to stop himself from dry heaving.

“I’ll be right back,” Curtis promises. Getting up after lightly caressing Shiro's shoulder, he heads into the kitchen.  He starts the kettle to make some mint tea, and pours some ice water from the filter jug into a cup.

He heads back into the bathroom, and hands the cup of water to Shiro . “Small sips. I’m making you tea to settle your stomach. Plus its better to puke up water than nothing.”

Shiro does his best to hold the cup with shaky hands, taking the recommended small sips.

“Not so fast, not so fast,” Curtis chides. “You’ll make it worse. I’m gonna go start some soup. I think I can modify my curry ingredients to make chicken soup.”

“I’ve got egg noodles in the cabinet,” Shiro offers. He’s already feeling a little better.

“Do you have more than one wash cloth?”

“I think so, why?”

“Which cabinet?” Curtis ignores his question, already digging through them.

“Far left...” Setting the cup down, his eyes tear up as his stomach rejects the water.

“Ah,” Curtis pulls out a washcloth and runs it under cold water before squeezing it out and dropping it on the back of Shiro's neck.

“Fuck,” Shiro swears with feeling. “That’s cold.” He wriggles a little. “Drops of ice water just went right down my spine,” he whines.

“But.. Do you feel better?”

Surprised, he nods. “Thanks.”

“Hang tight, sip water if you can. I’ll start the soup, check on the tea… And come sit with you.” Another soft caress, and he’s out of the room.

Shiro does his best to quell the phantom pains in his metal arm. He can still feel them cutting bone out. Taking his fingers first. Dry heaving again, he feels like he’s going to break a rib.

_ Think about something else, focus on something else _ .  He chooses to listen to Curtis in the kitchen, and smiles a little at the constant opening and closing of drawers and cabinets punctuated by frustrated curses. While he and Curtis spend some time at his place, he hasn’t bothered to furnish it much and it hardly feels like a home. So it’s not as if Curtis would know all the ends and outs of the kitchen cabinets. But from the sounds of things he’s managing to find what he needs. 

Letting his head rest against his arm again, he gets lost in the sounds of the kitchen.

When Curtis comes back to check on Shiro, he’s not too surprised to find Shiro asleep, held up only by the toilet. He shakes his head. The tea is on the counter steeping, and the soup ingredients are in the pot.

“Alright old man, up you come,” he says, crouching down and gently running hands over Shiro’s shoulders, waking him up before he helps him to his feet. “You want me to just put you to bed?”

“No, I’m okay,” he insists, clearly exhausted.

“How about I put you in bed anyway, and I'll bring you your tea… And we can sit and talk until the soup’s ready? If you’re still awake when I get back,” Curtis teases.

Mumbling agreement with that plan, he lets Curtis help him up and into bed.  He does his best to stay awake and laughs a little when the other man pulls the covers up over him.

Rather than bring the tea in, Curtis just dumps it back into the pot for easier reheating. No reason to waste it. He knows Shiro will be out cold. Heading back  into the bedroom, he sees the former paladin is still propped up against the headboard, having made a valiant effort to stay awake.

Easing him down so he can sleep, he ignores Shiro's mumbled protests, kissing his temple. “I’ll stay with you,” he promises, smoothing the blankets over Shiro's shoulders. He sits with him for a little over an hour, reading some work reports on the comm. The soup can simmer mostly unwatched for a few hours at the very least. 

As Shiro sleeps, Curtis checks on the soup once or twice, turning the heat down to keep it warm the second time. It’s been long enough it’s done cooking, all it needs to do is stay warm and let the flavors continue to mingle. 

It occurs to him it might be nice to do this more often, come home and spend an evening cooking together, curl up and relax together. Just be. Without any expectations of a date, or anything fancy. They’ve been together a little while now, and it’s been good. 

When he’d been sick, Takashi had been so caring and concerned. Maybe a little bit of a mother hen, even. Not that it hadn’t been somewhat nice to have someone catering to his every need for a few days until whatever strain of the flu he’d had had finally passed. 

Thankfully, even though it’s been a few hours, the tea is still warm in the pot. He pours a mug and adds a liberal spoonful of honey, and heads back into the bedroom. 

“Hey, Takashi…” He says softly stroking Shiro’s hair. “You should wake up, drink something, and eat a little…” He continues to smooth the other man’s hair and neck as he talks. Kneading the knots in Shiro's neck a little, he smiles as he starts to shift and wake up. “If you don’t eat or drink soon you’ll wake up feeling sicker, and it’ll become a cycle,” he keeps his voice low.

“What time issit?” Shiro mumbles, still half asleep.

“Around 7, I think.” Curtis wasn't really watching the clock. He’d been keeping an eye on the food or on Shiro. “I brought you some tea.”

“Didn’t you come over at three?” he asks, slightly more awake. Sitting up and rubbing at his eyes with his left palm, he looks around until he sees the clock. “Curtis I’m so s-”

“Don’t. I let you sleep. Soup took a few hours anyway. It’ll be way better now than if we’d had to rush it.”

“You’re too good to me,” he mumbles, yawning so hard his jaw cracks.  He sips the tea Curtis gave him , thankful for the clean taste of mint slightly sweetened by the honey.

“I’ll meet you in the kitchen,” Curtis says, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on Shiro's forehead.

Shiro nods sleepily, and as Curtis leaves he gets up and heads into the bathroom. Splashing some water on his face he looks blearily into the mirror. Red rimmed eyes, pale sickly skin. Great. Just great. H e puts on a smile as he heads back into the kitchen , setting his mug back down by the teapot.

“Smells good, thank you for cooking for me.”

“Of course. How’s your stomach?”

“Oh. It’s fine now.” He’d only been sick because of how bad his nightmare was. No stomach bug or anything.

Curtis notices Shiro’s face still a little at his question , and lightly reaches out to touch his cheek. “Takashi…”

Looking away, “No sense in letting the soup get cold. C'mon, let's go take these to the couch and turn something on.”

“What are you in the mood for?”

“Anything’s fine,” he says, just glad for a change of subject. 

**

The movie wraps up, and the credits roll to silence and soft breathing as the only applause.

Curtis’ empty bowl sits stacked with Shiro's on the coffee table.

Both men are asleep, arms around each other. Curtis had snaked an arm around Shiro's middle, Shiro wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder. Head on Curtis’ shoulder, with Curtis’ head resting against his.

They stay asleep, embracing each other, until Curtis’ alarm goes off, wristlet beeping softly. They both start awake, blinking in the pre-dawn gloom.

“Do you work today?” Shiro asks, blinking rapidly as he tries to wake up.

“No,” Curtis groans. “I just usually go to the gym early on weekends.”

“Do you need to go?”

“No, but I need to stretch.” Slipping out of Shiro's lax grasp he stands up and twists, reaching down to his toes, arching to the side, wincing some when his back pops and crackles as he readjusts. Rolling his neck around that pops a few times, too.

Shiro watches with catlike interest. He’s intrigued, but not ready to act on anything. 

Twisting he looks over his shoulder and catches Shiro staring. Grinning a little, “I’m more flexible when I’ve slept in a bed.” He grins broader when Shiro turns red.

Shiro shifts on the couch, rolling his shoulders and neck out, choosing to ignore Curtis’ flirtation. He stands up to touch his toes and run through some of his favourite stretches. As he dips into a low lunge, it occurs to Shiro he might be showing off.  So maybe he’s flirting back, he’s not sure. He definitely enjoys the way Curtis is looking at him.

Standing up smoothly, he stretches out his arm. It feels good. It feels good waking up next to Curtis after having slept through the night. His body is thrumming with energy he hasn’t had in what feels like years. There’s no fear or adrenaline behind it. No force of will to see anything through. He just slept good, and woke up next to the man he’s fallen in love with.

“Well maybe since sleeping on the couch isn’t good for either one of us… I could clear out a drawer for you. Just in case you stay late again.” He won’t admit that he only has enough clothes to fill one drawer anyway. Underwear, pants… He spreads things out across three of the four in the dresser but he doesn’t need to. His uniforms hang in the closet. He’s worn those far more than civvies. And he hasn't been going out much, so he stays home in pajamas a lot.

No one’s going to see and care.

“A drawer, huh?”

“You don’t have to-”

“Sure. I’d like that,” Curtis smiles.

“Let me heat up the tea,” Shiro offers.

“Can I use some mouthwash?”

“Yeah, of course.” He heads into the kitchen while Curtis goes to the bathroom to freshen up.

He opens the fridge and pulls out some bacon and eggs to set beside a mixing bowl . It's all he can cook as far as breakfast foods that don’t take long. He has an old cast iron skillet that he puts on the stove to warm. Pouring himself some tea, he adds a little honey before sipping it. 

By then Curtis is back and Shiro wordlessly offers him a cup. Accepting a quick kiss on the cheek, he heads off to take his own turn in the bathroom.

When he gets back Curtis has added bacon to the pan. “I would’ve cooked…” He falls silent at the warm look he gets.  He slides in behind his boyfriend, and wraps his arms loosely around Curtis’ middle. Resting his chin on Curtis’ shoulder, he takes advantage of his position to pepper Curtis’ cheek and neck with kisses.

“Takashi, if you don’t stop that I'm going to burn the bacon,” he warns, unable to help tipping his head to the side as Shiro invests his time kissing his neck.  His breath hitches a little as Shiro catches his earlobe, and he pours all of his concentration into flipping the bacon before he gets distracted to the point of dropping the entire pan on the floor.

Pressed up against Curtis,  Shiro’s body isn’t doing much of anything, which is for the best at the moment. He’s not ready to do more than kiss. Even if sometimes he wants more. He knows they’ll do more. But the shadow of their past lovers is long, and heavy.  There are probably a lot of heavy conversations they have to have before they’re ready to take the next step.

Not to mention Shiro isn’t comfortable in this new skin. It’s not even his body. He’s making it his, he can’t  really tell that it isn’t the one he was born with , but logically he knows. The scars, the new arm - he’d never even had real time to adjust to the first prosthetic. Nuzzling the other man’s neck in silent apology for the risk he took with the bacon , he’s content to just cuddle.

Curtis makes the eggs, too,  movements only hampered a little by the man holding him. He’s amused . Who would have thought Commander Shirogane was so into cuddles? So soft, gentle - not necessarily the opposite of the electric personality from the bridge, but the real person behind it.

He has a feeling that while Takashi truly is a leader, the commander is more of a persona, or an exaggeration of the beliefs and convictions held by the leader.

Turning off the stove, he moves the skillet off the burner, and settles the food in it to stay warm.  He twists around in Takashi’s arms, and kisses him gently.  He lets a thumb run across the scar under his eyes as he gently cups his chee k. They could have blinded him.

They kiss for a while, soft, gentle, slow. They have all the time in the world.

There’s no more war.

Shiro is cured.

Pressed together, neither man is honestly sure whose stomach growls, but either way they reluctantly break apart.

“Guess we should eat,” Shiro says, turning pink.

After breakfast they sit together by the window, watching the sun finish coming up. Neither one really realizes how much time passes, each lost in their own thoughts.

“Why don’t you come over to my place? ” Curtis asks after a comfortable silence. “ We can spend the day. I have way more food. And if you want, you can bring a change of clothes and a toothbrush…” He gives Shiro a gentle smile.

Shiro instantly turns red. He isn't sure he’s ready for what Curtis  might be offering. “I still don’t feel like this body is mine,” he blurts out.

Curtis sighs heavily. “Not that kind of come over.”  He gives Shiro a weak look. “I’m not ready either.” He lifts  Shiro’s hand and kisses  his  palm.  He meets Shiro’s eyes for a minute, then looks back at their hands . “I love what we’re doing, and building… but I mostly love that we aren’t rushing.”

Thankful Curtis almost always understands what he’s trying to say, Shiro sighs, too. He feels like he can say no, here. Like he can drop the facade that everything is perfect. Stop pretending he’s strong and okay all the time. “I do want that with you,” Shiro mumbles, giving Curtis a wry smile.

“Everyone wants the same with you, so I think I’m pretty lucky I’m the one you chose.” Curtis leans over and lightly pokes Shiro's chest. “Look at all that muscle.”

“Because that’s the only reason?” he asks, arching an eyebrow and trying for coy.

“Well. The white hair is kind of a turn on for the silver fox kink, right?”

Laughing, he’s glad they can just talk. They can admit things to each other and move on.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff, some angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some unpleasant descriptions of things that happened while Shiro was held captive.   
> (also eternal undying thanks to my beta. this is as much their story as mine now, in so many ways. <3 )

**Chapter 5:**

“You okay?” Curtis asks, seeing the change in body language. For all Shiro takes his shoes off, and has pulled his jacket off, holding it awkwardly.

“Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about how if things were normal, if I was normal… ”

“Stop,” Curtis says gently, but firmly. “Takashi, listen. I want to be someone you can always talk to, and share with… and be honest with. But none of us are normal. And there is nothing wrong with you, and I won't listen to that from you.” He takes Shiro’s hand and twines their fingers together. “I won’t listen to you lie, even if you believe it in the moment.”

Dropping his eyes, he looks up again, seeing Curtis staring at him. Waiting for some kind of confirmation. “Okay,” he says hoarsely. Then with more conviction: “Okay.” He leans in hesitantly to kiss Curtis softly on the lips. 

Curtis smiles into the kiss, and gently pulls Shiro over towards the couch so they can relax. "Come sit with me," he offers. 

Shiro obliges him with a roll of his eyes. 

"Any preference on what we watch?" 

"Just not The Exorcist."

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Probably not," Shiro grins wickedly. "Besides you've got so much more you can hold over me." 

“Can we try something?” Curtis asks after a while, lightly taking Shiro's hands in his. Shiro stiffens in alarm. “Not like that. You said your body doesn’t feel like yours, yet.” Curtis looks at their interlocked fingers, rotating their hands a little. 

“Do we have to get up?” Shiro asks. He’s draped himself across Curtis’ lap. Curtis had been stroking his hair while they watched some mindless TV.

“No. Do you trust me enough to let me talk to you? Ask you some questions that might be uncomfortable? It’s a process my therapist was walking me through… I think it was really helpful for me.”

“Uh… yeah, I guess?” Shiro is somewhat jealous about how easily the other man talks about his mental health. How the invasion and the mayhem and the blood and the fear sent him over the edge for a while, so he got help. Like it was just that easy to suddenly decide that.

“I mean, I’ll ask you different questions than my therapist asked me, because our situations aren’t the same,” Curtis continued. “And it may or may not work for you. But - you can ask me anything in return, if you want to.” An even exchange.

“Yeah. That sounds… yeah.” Shiro still isn’t too sure yet, but he is curious about the method. And the part where he can ask questions back. He wants to be closer to Curtis.

“Takashi, if it gets rough, we can stop. Okay? No questions asked. You just tell me.”

“I can ask you anything?”

“Anything.”

“Even about… him?”

“Yes,” Curtis takes a deep breath. “Yes. I’m okay to talk about him.”

“Okay,” he takes a slow steady breath. “How does this work?”

Curtis gently runs his fingers through Shiro’s hair. He gently strokes and smooths it, lightly massaging his scalp, then the base of his skull, and then his neck.  He moves back up and comes to rest along his boyfriend’s hairline. “What dented your skull here?” he asks gently. He’s never noticed this before. He’d meant his touch to be relaxing, and then to work down to some of the other scars he’s seen. He winces a little as he explores the edges of the old wound. He thought he’d be prepared to face all of this with Shiro, go through the scars, and violence, and pain. But it just feels unending. No part of the paladin left untouched, unmarred. His body is a map of agony and abuse.  

“I don’t know what they did to the clone…” Shiro tries to laugh it off a little. “Maybe it was grown that way for all I know.” 

“No. What happened to you, specifically. What do you remember, that matches this scar?”

“The arena…” he takes a long breath. He can do this. If it might help, he can do this. “Another prisoner, a rock. Cracked my skull. We were fighting to the death… the other prisoner had smashed my wrist. I couldn’t defend myself. I saw double… blood everywhere, my eyelashes were thick with it. I could barely see… the world was spinning… I threw up. I was so disoriented.” He feels lost, remembering. Curtis’ gentle hands in his hair keep him grounded. “I still killed him. I still did that… I got him with a gut wound and he died before he could finish me off.”

Curtis keeps gently running his hands over the depression in Shiro’s skull. He’s glad Shiro can’t see his face.  “Does this feel the same? Can you tell a difference from the original injury?”

“No,” Shiro breathes. “No, I can’t.”

“Can you accept this as a mark of what happened?” he asks gently, lightly moving the pads of his fingers over Shiro’s scalp. He doesn’t feel any other dents. Nothing on Shiro’s neck.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I want to. I was nothing. I wasn’t in charge of… I was a slave. A prisoner. And then I was nothing but a… a consciousness?”

He feels the tension and pain in Shiro’s neck. He doesn’t want to push too hard just yet. “How about this? What does your neck do for you?”

Shiro snorts. “Like what? Hold my head up?” He tilts his head a little to eye Curtis and see if he’s being teased or not. 

“Exactly.” Curtis grins, he can hear the sarcasm. “Yes. Your head. It holds your head up. It’s your neck now.” He wants to see if he can actually work out some of that tension, so he slowly starts to increase the pressure. Moving down to his shoulders, he kneads the knots. They’re intense and seem painful.

Shiro grunts.

“Too hard?”

“No no no, don’t stop.”

Curtis laughs. “I’ve heard that before.”

Snickering, Shiro shifts to make it easier on Curtis to reach some painful spots between his shoulder blades. “When?” he asks, suddenly wanting a question of his own answered.

“First time, last time, or any random time in the middle?”

“That many?” Shiro twists to look and see if Curtis is teasing.

“What? You think you’re the first person I ever gave a shoulder rub to?” he asks, eyes twinkling.

Laughing again, Shiro shakes his head and resettles.

“But, first time I heard it the way you were thinking… I was in bed with my first serious boyfriend, and I was on my knees on the edge of the bed. He wasn’t the first guy I did that with. Or the last. Just, I’d finally had enough practice to start getting really good at it.” He lightly tickles Shiro’s ribs. “And I still remember all my old tricks. Just for future reference. Weeks. Or months.” He smiles, and looks Shiro right in the eye. “Or years. Whenever.” He’s in no rush, but he’s completely happy to tease his partner here and there. Especially when the blush stands out so brightly against Shiro’s silvery hair. 

Squirming some, he’s usually not ticklish but he feels so safe here.  And the massage is helping him relax.

Curtis stops the tickling seconds after starting. He promised not to push but that doesn’t mean Shiro squirming on his lap is something he can stop himself from reacting to. Going back to steadily kneading the knots in Shiro’s back he can’t hide the shock on his face at the sheer number of them. “Doesn’t all this hurt?” he demands.

“I guess? I haven’t really noticed... I mean I don’t… I’ve… I’ve been in pain for so long this doesn’t seem so bad. It’s not like this is the worst… first a degenerative disease… then… ” he swallows hard.

“The arena?” Curtis asks gently, kneading around Shiro’s prosthetic. The muscles seem more cramped up around the shoulder cap.

“Yeah. And then… fighting. The arm. I was so tired. And the… the flashbacks… I guess… I don’t know.”

He continues to work the area in concentric circles. “Well, you’ll need to come over more so I can help you with this,” Curtis smiles. Eventually a bad tangle breaks down and Shiro groans. The knots roll, finally. Moving into a new location so he doesn’t cause muscle inflammation or irritation, he listens to Shiro’s breathing. Deep and even. Not his first massage. Then again, he hasn’t even tensed up, so he must know he’s supposed to stay as relaxed as possible. 

Curtis pauses as he gets to Shiro’s middle. “Can I pull up your shirt a little?” he asks.

“Sure.” Shiros eyes are closed, and have been for the last fifteen minutes or so. He’s been loving every second of the physical attention. Also being asked about what his back does, or ribs, spine… It's kind of helped. Even if he’s prone to answering sarcastically. He does feel a little more comfortable. Like Curtis is helping him fit into this skin. Kneading him into it, with questions as the binding. Helping him become part of this new body.

Curtis lightly tugs up the hem, smiling a little when Takashi shivers. He runs his hands up his back, moving his palms away from the spine. He can feel some scar tissue, and holds in a sigh. Since the other man seems comfortable, he pulls up his shirt more, revealing ugly scars that bisect his flesh in jagged tears.

“Oh.” Curtis knew there were scars, but he didn’t anticipate anything this bad. How could he have?

Shiro twists and pushes himself up a little to look, almost concerned at the change in Curtis’ tone. “You okay?” 

“What caused this?” Curtis asks softly, trailing his fingertips across the largest band of scar tissue.

“Whips,” Shiro says lightly.

“I see,” Curtis swallows, then lets his hands continue to roam and soothe - himself as much as his partner, now.  “Was this all at once? Or many times?”

“The first time I refused to kill someone…” Shiro swallows. “I refused to execute a prisoner… I wasn’t strong enough to refuse a second time.” He clenches his jaw. “I had to get through it. I had to live through it so I could come back and warn Earth. Warn him….”

Curtis knows he means Adam. He has to keep his hands moving, otherwise they’d shake. If anyone had listened to Shiro when he first crash landed… maybe the Galra wouldn't have invaded. Or Voltron could have had backup and communication. They could have shared technology… maybe… maybe he would still be alive.

“Are you okay?” Shiro asks softly.

“Yeah. It’s not you. I was just thinking about...”

“How did he die?” Shiro’s almost afraid to ask. After a pause with Curtis just staring into space, Shiro shifts some in his lap. “Curtis?….You don’t have to answer…” He can barely speak in a voice above a whisper. He hadn’t meant to upset the other man. And he’s not sure how to offer comfort.

Shuddering a little before he answers, his voice comes out oddly flat. “Crushed to death in the rubble. He died slow. I guess he suffocated before the injuries killed him.” His hands are still and flat on Shiro’s back.

Shiro wants to help, but he’s afraid to move. He has no idea if offering comfort will make it better or worse. When Keith tried to talk to him about Adam he’d just walked away, he hadn’t been able to afford to have a breakdown about it yet. After that it had just never come up again. 

When the tears start to pool and spill over, Shiro sits up and shifts to pull Curtis into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“They couldn’t get him out in time. I tore up my hands and broke eight bones trying to get him out.  And none of it mattered, I didn’t get to him in time to say goodbye before he died.”

With his face tucked firmly into Shiro’s shoulder, he finally lets himself grieve.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE.  
> Life was INSANE. And then I was sick for a week straight, that sucked. And then I have no other excuses. I'm sorry. And I've seen like 3 different drs this week and been on the phone with one a few times, and... let's just say you should all comment to entertain me while I'm stuck waiting on test results. That's... that's what you should do. ;}   
> Seriously let me know how you guys are feeling about it. :} Thanks for reading!


	7. Chap 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, this is gonna get citrusy. Just so you guys know. I don't know how much y'all pay attention to tags, but heads up mentions of drinking in excess, and all that stuff.

**Chapter 6:**

Shiro feels guilty admitting it, but this is the most like himself he’s felt since he was on Kerberos harvesting samples.

After their moment on the couch, they had made dinner together. Shiro kept an eye on the pasta while Curtis made meat and sauce. Shiro doesn’t drink anymore. Not after too many nights spent heaving his guts up. He’d gone out drinking far more than he’d like to admit to, and the amount of alcohol he’d consumed alone at home...he’d decided that Axca’s party would be the last time he drank. At least for a while. 

Curtis opts not to imbibe either when Shiro politely refuses Curtis’  offer to open a bottle of wine . So far he’s never seen Shiro turn down a drink until now, and while he’s curious about the why of it, he’s never seen Shiro stop short of getting plastered either, once he starts. So maybe it’s for the best. 

After returning to Earth the final time, Shiro had spent about two weeks on a nonstop bender and he’s had enough for a while. It’s not something he’s proud of. He just hadn’t felt like his body fit together; the dysphoria and nightmares had led him into a dark pit of escapism at the bottom of a bottle. Stepping off the Atlas for the last time had been gut-wrenching in the worst possible ways. He’d expected it to feel freeing, leaving the Garrison behind. But instead he’d felt lost. He’d dropped out of contact with everyone, and they’d let him. Alone and miserable, he’d turned to alcohol for company. 

He’d run into Curtis at some karaoke bar, gotten hammered and had a breakdown in the alleyway. Curtis hadn’t seen most of it, but he’d made sure Shiro got home safe. Shiro had shown up the next day, hungover but sober with flowers for Curtis as a thank you. The other man had mislead the paparazzi and made sure no one saw him puking his guts up in an alley.

Things had kind of run from there.

Quietly rinsing the dishes and stacking them into the dishwasher, Shiro hums quietly to himself.

Curtis enjoys the domesticity of it. The calm and quiet. “My lease is up in a month… I was thinking about a bigger place, maybe. Two bedrooms.”

Shiro freezes. Then looks up at Curtis. “That might be nice. I didn’t know you were looking for a roommate. Or… Do you need an office…?” He’s not too sure where this is going.

“More like a guest room. Or maybe in a month… I’ll have someone I wouldn't mind trying to live with. But… That person still deserves their own space… That kind of thing…”

“Oh. That would be nice for them…” Shiro isn’t sure if Curtis is hinting at him or letting him down gently.

“Takashi… I offered you a drawer…” Curtis gives him a slow smile. “And a place to spend the night. Maybe… Maybe in a while it could be more than one night.” But he's right in assuming Shiro would need a space that was uniquely his. Not to mention Curtis wouldn’t mind having some space of his own on bad days.

Understanding dawns. “You’re just as bad as any lesbian.”

“Caught me. I already called the U-haul.”

Cracking up a little, the tension is diffused.

When the dishes are done, Curtis says he’s going to change into pajamas and offers Shiro space to do the same.

After he changes, Shiro exits the bathroom but hesitates at the door to the bedroom. He’s suddenly anxious and nervous, and he feels it deep in the pit of his stomach. They have spent so many nights together already, but talking about moving in together… that’s a big step. He still isn’t sure his body will work like it did before the Galra, even after all the talking with Curtis this afternoon. He doesn't want to disappoint Curtis and he’s humiliated by it. Which doesn’t help.

First there was the constant threat of death in the arena. Then the unending pain... And then when he returned to Earth to find out Adam had died… it hadn’t crossed his mind. He finds hope in Curtis, hope that he could feel that kind of desire again, but he’s so afraid the clone body just won’t work right. And he’s scared that he might find other broken things within himself. He’s terrified that it might all be beyond him now.

“You coming?” Curtis shuffles over to the door, looking fantastic in a soft blue sleep shirt and plaid flannel pants. He slips his hands into the pockets so he won’t reach out and accidentally do anything to pressure Shiro. “You don’t have to, but I promise I just want to sleep.”

“I don’t think I could do anything more anyway,” he whispers. “Not that I’ve tried.”

Curtis gets closer and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Listen, after… After the invasion… I fell apart, and I did some stupid stuff. I slept around a lot, trying to put the pain behind me… I’m not ready to be with you like that. I want you. I care about you. But I really was being honest when I said I was happy we were taking it slow.”

Pressing his forehead to Shiro’s and slipping his arms in a loose circle around his neck, Curtis meets his gaze. “My willpower is low, though. And Takashi… You’ve had a lot going on. When it's time… I guarantee it won’t be an issue.” He smiles and kisses Shiro on the lips. “Trust me. I am very good.”

“I am very rusty,” Shiro swallows. Leaning into Curtis’ hug he kisses the other man on the cheek.

After a few seconds, Curtis pulls away and takes Shiro’s hand and leads him into the bedroom. It takes them a few seconds of shifting before they get comfortable. Shiro settles on his back and Curtis settles against his chest.

They shift throughout the night, Shiro somehow ending up curled up against Curtis’ chest instead.

**

Shiro sleeps through the night for the second time in as many days.

He wakes up warm, safe, and comfortable for the second time in as many days.

A little shiver of contentment ripples through him as he resettles and snuggles back down into Curtis’ chest. Curtis shifts with a soft sigh in his sleep, pressing his body into his partner’s.

Shiro’s eyes open a little, bare slits when he realizes that Curtis is… well. Still asleep, but a portion of him isn’t. Not particularly uncomfortable he tries to settle back down into sleep. He’s exhausted. Two days of real sleep and he still feels like he could sleep two months. Maybe more.

Half wondering if Curtis will be okay with waking up together with… that between them. They had agreed to not do anything to encourage that. Unsure, he just wishes he was sure his body would do the same. It’s not that he feels his importance or personhood is dependent on anything to do with his genitals. But he would like to feel good, again. He would like his body to bring him something other than pain.

He gently pulls away from Curtis, glancing at the clock. They slept in late. It was somewhere approaching noon. Sitting up and swinging his legs out of bed, he sits on the edge, looking around the room. There’s no posters, but there’s some truly beautiful photographs of space. Curtis’ room is tastefully but sparsely decorated. His sheets are midnight blue and soft; the comforter matches. His curtains and throw rug do, too.

It feels like the night sky.

Lightly running a hand over the metal forearm, the soft blue glow gives out enough light he can see the shadows from Curtis’ eyelashes across his cheeks. He looks so soft.  He’s tempted to reach out , but he can’t bring himself to risk waking the other man.

He wants to wake Curtis up. Kiss him. Cover him in love and affection. He hopes he makes Curtis feel half as safe as Curtis does him.

He feels like he should start breakfast,  but he isn’t quite ready to leave the room just yet . Do something to thank this beautiful man who is giving him refuge in safe harbor. Running a hand through his hair, he’s pretty sure he would be dead, or close to, if Curtis hadn’t walked into his quarters on the Atlas that night. Woken him from a nightmare.

How many times did Curtis do that for him? A hundred? Two? Wake him up and bring him comfort on the darkest nights of his life?

He wishes his body did what he wanted it to. Squeezing his thighs for a second, he takes a shuddering breath.

It’s fine. If they can’t they can’t. He can still do  other  things, and enjoy kissing.

Curtis wakes up slowly, blue eyes glowing in the light of Shiro’s arm. “Sleep okay?” He mumbles, rolling onto his stomach so he can reach his arm out further to reach Shiro.

“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you up, I wanted to start breakfast but…”

“You don’t seem okay,” Curtis sits up. “Nightmare?”

“No, I slept great,” Shiro smiles. He’s aiming for reassuring, but he’s not sure if it's working.

“I’m not one of your underlings anymore, you don’t have to try and lie to me.”

Shiro looks away, feeling guilty. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.” Curtis wraps his arms around Shiro’s middle. “I know this is gonna be hard.” He kisses Shiro’s temple. “Takashi… If there’s something you can’t talk about… Just tell me you don’t want to talk about it yet. Or ever. I’m an adult. I’d rather you just tell me it isn’t the right time than lie and tell me it’s fine when it’s not.”

“You went through things, too.”

“I’m not someone you have to protect. I can hold my own. And it's not like that. It’s not any kind of competition or imbalance.” He nuzzles the side of Shiro’s head and kisses his cheek and neck, nibbles on his ear.

He leans back into it. Tilting his head to allow Curtis better access, he feels his heartbeat rising. Then he half wonders if… well, they agreed on nothing more than kissing. But maybe it’ll spark something lower down. They don’t have to act on it.

Shiro twists some, pulling Curtis into his lap. The other man obliges and shifts to straddle him.

Their hands mostly just stay on each other’s backs, or arms…sometimes they travel up to each other’s necks or faces. Shiro doesn’t like touching people with his prosthetic. Sometimes he’s pinched his own skin or his hair has caught in the joints and gotten ripped out.

Pulling back some, Shiro meets Curtis’ eyes, pressing his forehead against his. “You said you didn’t want…”

“If you want to stop?” Curtis asks. “I’m fine just kissing you. But if it’s too much of a taunt…” He doesn’t want to torment Shiro.

“No,” he grins, face red. Trying to act like this is normal. If Curtis hasn’t noticed he just won’t draw any attention to the “problem.” Reinitiating the kissing, he’s glad Curtis is enjoying this. He is, too. Maybe if he just stops worrying about it, it’ll happen on its own.

At some point, he gets frustrated with how distracting the blue light is. The light hum. Reaching under the lip of his shoulder cap, he digs his fingertips under the rim, finding the release. It drops to the bed with his arm, cold, silent, and dark.

Pushing Curtis flat on the bed with a quick twist, they trade places and he settles on top. He enjoys the feel of Curtis wanting him. He enjoys the kissing. He enjoys feeling wanted. And like he’s not responsible for anything more than living in the moment.

Curtis kisses along his jaw, rolling his hips a little. Shiro makes a startled sound, which makes them both laugh a little, and Curtis exhales when Shiro grinds down a little on him. “I think your body works just fine,” he says, pulling away to get some air and slow things down.

“Did you do all that just to prove that?” Shiro asks breathlessly, confused.

“No, I did all that because I wanted to kiss you senseless,” he gives Shiro a devilish grin. “Did it work?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I am not... good at writing this stuff. I don't think.   
> I just moved, took us like 6 days to get our internet set up even tho I called before the move. I have ... a lot. To deal with right now. Distract me with comments? 
> 
> Also shoutout to the tumblr user shelikesgoodfics because they're the reason I'm posting this. Dragged myself up. Meant to post before I went to sleep but after my run we ended up watching all of good omens and I started falling asleep on the couch. So.   
> Not to sound like Dudley but the last chapter didn't get much commentary, so I'm wondering if it was just bad? Or if people are losing interest? Totes okay but. Lemme know guys.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to prodigalra for beta'ing. Amazing. I'll work on chapter 8 when I feel more up to focusing on things. But this was a relatively easy chapter to finish editing.

After breakfast they go for a walk to the local park. Shiro makes sure to cover his hair with a dark ballcap and his face with sunglasses. He’s pinned up his sleeve with Curtis’ help, choosing to leave the prosthetic behind.  But  he couldn’t bear to leave Allura’s crystal. It rides in his pocket, the soft glow easily hidden by the thick denim.  Curtis is known for being around Shiro and  for being a member of the Atlas, so he too has to don a disguise. He tugs on a beanie and sunglasses, too, obscuring most of his face.

They wander around the pond, enjoying kids playing in the lake, joggers, dog walkers. Noise, life, people. Kids on swings, couples on benches.

Everything they fought for. It’s here.

He slowly starts to notice more and more people missing limbs. Crutches. Canes. Missing arms.

A small boy runs past with his friends, lipstick across the bridge of his nose. “Form Voltron!” They run laughing and giggling past and Shiro notices the boy is missing arm.

Curtis sees it, too. Sees Shiro’s body language change and he knows what’s coming. It’s a good thing they haven’t eaten lunch and are already headed home.

A couple walks past, burn scars down the arms of one, the other on crutches, missing most of a leg.

Curtis thinks about what they pulled from the rubble that day. Those days. What his partner had looked like. He glances at his own hands, both he and Shiro unconsciously picking up their pace.

The second they’re through the door Shiro bolts for the bathroom and starts vomiting up his guts.

Curtis presses his back against the door, heart pounding. They’re useless to each other right now. Logically he knows Shiro would help him if he could. But that doesn’t stop him from feeling like his lungs are full of grit and dust. He’s choking on the smell of blood and his hands are bloody and broken from digging in rubble.

Forcing his eyes open, he goes through the steps his doctor told him to try. What can he see? Hear? Smell? Touch?

When he feels calmer, he can hear dry heaving still happening.  He glances at his comm device, and  he shoots Colleen a message, and Keith, too, just in case. He knows she’ll wrangle her family if possible. Keith might not even be on Earth. He’s not sure.

In  the bathroom, Shiro has yanked his shirt off. The collar was making him feel worse. He can’t handle things riding on his neck, and the t-shirt had to go.  He kneels in front of the toilet, in just his black tank top and pants.   He really wishes his stress reaction wasn’t puking. But seeing that kid with the scar drawn on….

Like it was some kind of victory to get cut up and maimed. Some kind of victory to murder people. To execute prisoners. To piss himself when they whipped his back bloody and raw. Or to scream every time, no matter how many times he told himself he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Sobbing, he rubs at his shoulder, where the cap usually sits. At least before, he’d had part of an arm, more than just a shoulder. How could that little boy, or any child, ever see him as some kind of hero? He’s the Champion, too. A monster. Not a paladin. Never a real paladin.

Curtis makes it in, feeling a little more settled.   It’s clear that Shiro isn’t, yet. He sees Shiro squeezing his shoulder and carefully pulls his hand away. “That doesn’t look good,” he says softly.  Curtis feels a small wave of shame. He hadn’t noticed this when Shiro pulled off the shoulder cap this morning: he’d been distracted by kissing. It looks like weeks of blisters broken open. Months maybe. Looking at it, his concentration distracts Shiro from his own pain and he stops crying.

“What happened? Did you get burned?” he asks, gently touching the edge of a ragged flap of skin. “We gotta remove the bits that’re just hanging… And clean this…”

Shiro winces as gentle fingers walk the edge of the wound.

“Is that fluid build up? Is this infected?” he asks, talking more to himself. When he’s done looking it over, Shiro gets up to get rid of the taste of vomit. He’s so sick of his throat burning, so sick of all of it. 

Curtis  gets up and grabs saline solution, gauze, a strong antiseptic, and antibiotic ointment. Setting it all on the edge of the tub, he quickly taps out   another  message to Colleen while Shiro is brushing his teeth.

She can bring something to debride the necrotized flesh. And then probably something that will soothe it better than store brand ointment. She makes a lot of medical supplies out of alien flora and fauna.  They’re very effective: the Garrison is working on mass-producing them, if Curtis remembers correctly.

Teeth brushed, Shiro looks at all the medical supplies at rubs at his eyes. He hates being poked and prodded at.

Curtis gently kisses his forehead. “Let me clean it up, please. Then we’ll just rest some. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees wearily. “Do I have to try and fake being okay with it?”

“No.” Curtis sits him down on the edge of the tub, kissing his temple. He carefully rinses the area with the saline, just making sure everything is flushed out. Nothing trapped in and around the brutalized flaps of skin to cause further irritation.

Done with that, he pours some antiseptic onto a gauze pad, “I don’t know if this’ll burn or not, but if it does I’m sorry.” Carefully pressing it against Shiro’s shoulder, he presses a kiss on his forehead. Stroking Shiro’s hair while holding the gauze to his shoulder, he sighs.

“You okay?” Shiro asks. Curtis seems disheveled, too.

“It stressed me out, too. I get it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come help…”

“I’m really glad you puked in the bathroom and not the doorway.”

Shiro gives him a weak smile he tiredly returns.

“Don’t get mad, but we’ll be having company. And you can leave your shirt off.”

Shiro stiffens as Curtis throws out the gauze, before opening a new pad and adding some ointment to it and taping it over the ragged mess of skin.

“Who?” He asks, brows pulled together in annoyance.

“Colleen, for sure, but I’m not sure who else, yet. But they’re bringing food. C’mon, let’s go relax.” He lightly squeezes Shiro’s good shoulder before washing his hands again and heading out of the bathroom. 

Getting up with a sigh, Shiro pauses at the mirror. He looks pale.  His eyes are red, too. He rubs at them for a few seconds, then looks again. No change, of course. There’s not much he can do about it, other than hope they look normal by the time anyone shows up. Splashing a little water on his face anyway, he takes a few deep breaths before exiting the bathroom.

Shiro allows Curtis to wrap a blanket around his shoulders and curl up with him on the couch. He is most decidedly sulking at the idea of company. Much less anyone seeing him while he’s struggling. He’s been pulling away from everyone as much as possible other than Curtis.

Not that anyone checks in much. If he says he’s fine they believe him. He has pleasant contact with everyone. He knows how they’re all doing. But he’s gotten things to the point no one even asks him personal questions anymore he’s so good at keeping them talking about themselves.

Like Hunk is doing great, and Shay and Romelle are helping spread his empire and skills with Vrepit Sal.

Lance is okay farming. Finding some peace and enjoying his family. And maybe a few of the girls on the neighboring farms are interested in him, too. Maybe not. For once he’s not pushing. 

Keith, Krolia, and the Blade have been well. When Keith bothers to answer.

Pidge and the Holts are close by, and Shiro has gotten good at excusing himself from invites to eat with them. They’ve given up on asking him without realizing. And if Shiro asks Pidge about anything she’s working on she’ll talk for hours and he won’t have to say a word.

Matt is just like his sister. So he’s easy to distract and deflect and Shiro has always been a good actor.

Shiro groans when there’s a knock on the door, snuggling deeper into the blanket and shooting Curtis a half hearted glare.

Curtis rolls his eyes. He loves that Shiro feels okay dropping his facade of perfection. And that he doesn’t mind giving up control once in a while. He thinks Shiro probably secretly loves not having to be the adult all the time.

Ruffling Shiro’s hair on his way to the door, he presses the pad and it opens on the entire Holt family along with Keith, Krolia, and Lance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I just wanted you to know I tried putting indents and spaces at the top of paragraphs and the editing doesn't appear to take on AO3. So like, I'm not gonna worry about it. 
> 
> This weekend... was... awful. It was awful. Like your boss has to send a letter out to the entire company because something so bad happened while you were at work, awful. Like 911 calls awful. So if you wanna distract me by commenting that'd be neat.  
> And if you don't, you don't, also valid.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> double post for Shirotember.   
> Thanks as always to my beta who works hard to find time to edit. I think we're caught up now, so it might be a while before another update. But as always you can find me on tumblr and see the "raw" fic in it's wild unedited form. (it's not great. Thank prodigalra a LOT. anyone who enjoys this fic owes them big time.)

Shiro peers over the back of the couch and sees a large amount of people and blanches a little. Especially with Colleen and Sam carting in two bags of equipment. Tempted to see if he can sneak out a window he stands up and plasters a smile on.

“Hey!” He holds out his arm to hug Lance who mobs him first, then Keith. The blanket drops and Keith looks right at his shoulder. Krolia comes over to gently clap Shiro on his good shoulder and he does his best to ignore her nostrils flaring as she takes in his scent.

“You been sick?” Keith asks him, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Shiro laughs. “I’ve got Curtis to take care of me, if I was.”

“You look thin,” Krolia comments, and leans in to say something to Keith.

Before they can say more Sam is giving Shiro a hug and they’re making pleasant small talk as Matt and Pidge line up to hug him, too.

“Guess we’re just missing Hunk, huh?” Shiro asks with a big grin. “I’ve missed you guys. But I haven’t heard from him in a bit, anyone know what planet he’s on now?”

“As much as we’d love to talk about Hunk, we came to see you,” Keith says. He’s not going to let Shiro get out of this. His mother is right, Shiro reeks of vomit and infection. He has circles under his eyes that look like bruises. He’s thin, tired. There’s a little tremor to his hand that was never there before.

Colleen bustles into the bathroom and sets up some supplies. She’ll need to swoop Shiro away in a minute or two.

Lance dumps some pizza on the counter, Krolia adding a large paper bag of sushi rolls to the pile as Pidge dumps a container of homemade soup beside the pizza. Enough food for a small army now rests on the counters. Matt has added some containers of soda and juice to the mess of food.

Krolia and Keith talk quietly, heads together as Shiro gets Sam talking about his latest project.

Lance digs around in the drawers before he starts setting out plates and silverware, figuring they’ll need those. He pulls Pidge aside for a second to ask, “Does Shiro look okay?”

She frowns and really looks. “I guess not.” Ladling up some soup into a bowl, she brings it over to Shiro. Lance encourages him to sit so he can set the bowl in his lap and eat.

“Hey you’ve gotta try this,” Lance encourages him. “Have you eaten over at the Holt’s yet?” 

“No, I’ve been kind of busy,” Shiro half lies. 

“Well then this is the perfect time to try some,” he cajoles, holding the bowl out with a big grin. Shiro rolls his eyes and reluctantly takes it. 

“I’m really not all that hungry right now,” he protests weakly. For all he can see both Pidge and Lance staring at him expectantly.  

Keith swoops in to take up the rest of the space on the couch as Curtis slips away to go talk to Colleen. Matt is busy comparing something on a comm device to some small holo Krolia has, Matt leaning comfortably against the island in the kitchen.

Keith lightly squeezes Shiro’s knee, ignoring the general chatter around them.

He tries to work on the soup for a bit. But honestly he doesn’t want to eat. His throat is still raw. “Yeah, Lance, you’re right, this is really good. Thanks Pidge,” he makes himself smile at her. 

 “Do you want some water?” Keith asks. He knows Shiro better than anyone, other than maybe Curtis. Something about that smile doesn’t ring true. Or his body language. Shiro’s so closed off, hunched forward over the bowl, shoulders curling inwards. 

“Oh, I’m okay,” Shiro smiles brightly. “The soup is liquid, so it’s not like I need a drink to go with it.”

“I can tell when you’re lying,” Keith informs him carefully. “And you really don’t need to do that.” Holding out his hands for the bowl, he gives his brother a soft look when he gratefully passes it over.

Keith looks up to see his mother has drifted closer, still debating some data with Matt. He passes the bowl to her who takes it and sets it on the counter before coming back with water. Her superior hearing has kept her in the loop of Keith’s entire conversation with Shiro. She idly takes a few pieces of sushi, and Matt decides to help her set up the food better. And to snag a piece of the pizza. 

Pidge and Lance are catching up while Shiro quietly sips his water, and Sam is looking around at Curtis’ decorations. 

Finishing his water, he glances back when he sees Keith’s attention shift behind him. 

“I’m ready to look at your shoulder,” Colleen smiles. “Curtis said it’s not looking so good.” 

Sam frowns and comes closer. “You never said anything about the arm bothering you,” he points out. “We would have come sooner if we’d known.” 

Keith bristles a little, for all there’s nothing unkind in Sam’s tone. “We were kind of busy fighting a war. It’s not like he had time to worry about something like a little discomfort.” For all now that things are over Keith wishes Shiro had said something.

“That’s true,” Sam says calmly, unfazed by Keith’s outburst. “But it’s been over for a while now.” 

Shiro reaches out to lightly squeeze Keith’s shoulder. It’s fine, he’s fine. He gets up with a soft groan, using Keith as a crutch to push himself up. Not that he really needs any added support, but it gives him an excuse to push Keith into the couch. He gets a grunt and a glare for his efforts, and gives Keith a pitiful excuse for a mischievous grin. 

Colleen lightly pats his back encouragingly as she walks him into the bathroom.

Shiro breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Curtis leaning against the counter. Whatever’s about to happen, he won’t have to face it alone. He’s so sick of being a guinea pig. Experimental arm with technology that almost killed him the minute they hooked it up. Surgery to cut him up even more, to make the arm fit... his chest tightens and he does his best to act nonchalant. 

“Do you mind sitting down so it’s easier to work on your shoulder?” Sam asks him, gesturing to the lip of the tub. Shiro shrugs a shoulder in response but settles down where he’s asked to. He looks down at his hand rather than look around at the medical supplies on the toilet and counter. He hates this. At least he isn’t being strapped down this time.

Colleen gently pulls the gauze off his shoulder and makes a face. “Shiro…” She says softly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Since Sam helped design the arm he’s curious, too. He’s not sure what caused it. There should be no friction. Maybe a reaction to the metal? Or something got under the cap and caused irritation? He’s no doctor, but all the same he thought he’d done a decent job taking in more than just the engineering into account. 

“No one ever asked…” He mumbles. He’s glad Curtis has a nice place, with a bigger bathroom. It doesn’t feel too  crowded with four of them in there. He jumps when Colleen applies gel to his injury. “Little warning? ‘Scold.” 

“It might itch a little, too,” she warns. “It’s a plant paste I found that only eats dead or diseased tissue.”

Shiro momentarily wonders if it will eat through his whole body or not. He’s rotten to the core. It seems like too much effort to ask her, though. Besides she might just want to do more experiments on him to figure out how far the rot actually goes. How much more of him would they cut off and scrape away? 

Colleen gently explores the area, uncomfortable with the way he just stares off into the distance. She is relieved to see that the paste is working, and she won’t have to actually trim any of the skin away.

She gently prods the area, lips pursed. “Curtis, I think you’re right, there is some kind of build up.” She takes some fresh gauze and wipes off his shoulder, revealing shiny pink skin. “Sam? What do you think?” 

He leans over to lightly walk his fingertips across the skin, frowning. “It definitely feels like there’s some sort of fluid under it, but I’m not sure what would cause it.” Or if it’s not just a severe infection. He’d seen how utterly destroyed the skin beneath the prosthetic had been. Stepping back to prepare some other supplies, he wishes Shiro had said something months ago. The damage must have taken several weeks to accrue to be as bad as it was. 

 “Does this hurt?” she asks Shiro, and he shrugs. He barely feels her prodding. Then again, he’s doing anything he can to not think about where he is, or what’s going on. Keep himself distracted from all of it. 

When Curtis notices Shiro’s utter disinterest in what’s happening, he moves closer, taking the other man’s hand in his.  He rubs it gently, and realizes - “Takashi, you’re freezing.” He runs a hand up his arm, and does his best to warm Takashi up a little. “As soon as we’re done I’ll find you a sweatshirt or something warm,” he promises.

When Colleen pulls out a wide gauge needle, Shiro completely checks out. His arm goes completely limp in Curtis’ grasp.

Colleen doesn’t notice at first.  “I’m going to see if there’s anything to drain, or if it’s something else. This might be uncomfortable. I can numb the area a little, first,” she offers. 

He doesn’t respond.

“Takashi…” Curtis lightly strokes his hair. “C'mon back. You’re not there anymore.” He makes a back off motion to the two scientists, and they oblige. Colleen puts the needle down, flipping a gauze patch over it to hide it.  Curtis wraps both his arms around Shiro, and gently kisses the side of his face.

Automatically leaning in to the comfort, Shiro takes a shuddering breath. “Curtis?”

“I’m here. I think we’re doing this wrong, and I’m sorry. We really want to make sure you’re okay and nothing is wrong with your shoulder. Is it okay if we check?” Of course they barely asked  before they’d started.

They asked him to sit and he did. But it’s not like he would have felt like he had options. Shiro walks an odd line between following orders and giving them. And when he’s struggling he’s either defiant or entirely too submissive. Curtis hasn’t experienced too much of either, but he’d seen it in action before Shiro accepted a medical discharge.

Shiro blinks, and the room comes back into focus. He looks up at Sam and Colleen. “Yeah. You guys can do what you need to,” he says wearily. “But Colleen, yes, please use the numbing agent. I don’t want to feel any of this.”

Curtis shifts to sit beside him and to support him as much as possible. To ground him.

“Let me know when it’s working,” Colleen says, discarding the glove she’d just used.

Shiro presses his face into Curtis’ side. He doesn’t want to see any needles. Or scalpels. Or anything. He just wants people to stop treating him like a science project. “I think it’s working now,” he mumbles. Is this over yet? Can it just be over? No more arm, no more taking another pound of flesh. The Galra cut it off, clearly he can get by without it. Putting his hand on the outside of his pants pocket, he feels the shape of the crystal and takes a calming breath. 

Curtis strokes his hair the entire time, focusing on anything but what Colleen is doing. He sees Sam handing her plenty of things from her kit, sees her pass things back. The two scientists converse, arguing some. While technically neither one of them has kept to any kind of medical science, to create prosthetics they had to have some knowledge in it. Which meant Sam had had to go back and learn quite a bit about anatomy and medicine to be able to help Matt. And Colleen had felt her work with plants would be beneficial to medicine as well as any kind of terraforming or rebuilding planets destroyed by the Galra war and occupation. 

Shiro wants to disappear. They should just let whatever’s going wrong go wrong. He doesn’t even realize how miserable he is, fingertips smoothing over the crystal repeatedly.  He likes time with Curtis. He goes out on morning jogs, he eats three meals a day, keeps his living space clean. He goes through the motions of normal. And when he’s with Curtis, he mostly feels normal. And when he doesn’t, it’s okay. Curtis loves him as  he is. He doesn’t even realize he’s started silently crying. He’s working so hard to not think about  everything that’s happening in the room. 

Curtis continues to gently thread his fingers through Shiro’s hair, and he realizes he’s starting to feel angry. Not at Takashi. But as he feels more  of Takashi’s tears soak into his shirt, he can’t believe no one’s asked about his arm before. Or asked how he’s doing. Or ever talked with him about the things he went through. Because it’s fairly obvious they haven’t. Especially if his thousand yard stare seemed abnormal to any of them. He checks out here and there all the time.

When Keith pokes his head in, Curtis looks up at him and shakes his head. No, now is not a good time. Keith glances at Colleen and blanches when he sees what’s going on and ducks back out. 

“All done,” Colleen says reassuringly  after a few more minutes , smoothing a new bandage over his shoulder. “The new cream I’ve developed should soothe and heal all the raw skin, and close up any little holes from those needles.” Looking at him, her face softens and she gently wipes tears off his cheeks. She knows it’s not from physical pain, he hadn’t so much as twitched the whole time. 

Shiro nods. His shoulder still feels numb. He wonders if it will ache later, from whatever they’ve done to it. Honestly whenever Colleen had tried to tell him what she was doing he hadn’t bothered to listen. Maybe Curtis did, but he doesn’t want to ask. In fact he’s pretty sure if he opens his mouth he’s going to start crying. 

Sam hunches down, “Can we talk for a few minutes?” he asks softly, squeezing Shiro’s knee gently. Shiro nods dumbly again.

Curtis kisses the top of his head. “You’ll be okay with Sam and Colleen for a minute?” It’s half question, half statement, and Shiro nods. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, and presses his forehead to Takashi’s for a moment before he gets up. He watches Takashi hunch in on himself, preparing for whatever Sam and Colleen want to talk about.

Curtis heads out of the bathroom and back to their company in the living room. Lance perks up as soon as he sees Curtis, and asks, “Is Shiro okay?”

“No,” he snaps, carefully shutting the bathroom door behind him. His anger is bubbling closer to the surface. “He hasn’t been okay. Not for a while.”

Curtis is mad at all of them. And at Zarkon. And at some choice members of the Galra too, but mostly the people in front of him. Curtis has lots of friends and family who check up on him. He talks openly with Veronica about some of his problems, and he knows about some of hers. He talks to his brother and his parents at least once a week, usually more. They ask after his relationship, his job, how he’s sleeping - they know he’s going to therapy less often, and they know he needs their support as he continues to improve.

The people in his living room were supposed to do that for Shiro. And yet…

Curtis lets his anger boil over. “How did none of you notice?”

“Look, Shiro isn’t the kind of guy who lets you in all that easily-”

“None of you even ask anymore, do you?” Curtis cuts him off.  He clenches his fists, feeling his muscles tense. Some part of him knows he should calm back down, but he’s just so frustrated. He shouldn’t be Takashi’s only pillar of support. “Do you even notice when he’s not there anymore? How many of you bothered to talk to him about that year he spent being tortured by the Galra? Or his time adrift inside the Black Lion? Or about Adam?”

“Who’s Adam?” Lance asks, hating himself a little. While he’d followed Shiro’s Garrison career as closely as possible, he’d been less interested in his personal life. 

Keith sighs heavily. “Shiro’s first serious boyfriend. Adam was with him for almost his entire Garrison career. They flew together. Taught classes. They were… A solid couple until the end. Adam ended it before Shiro left for Kerberos. And… He died in the initial invasion.” 

Matt winces. He should have asked. They knew Adam died. They’d known him and grieved. But they hadn’t really checked on Shiro. But he’d seemed okay. Strong. Unflappable. They should have known better. Or at the very least they should have asked. Should have made sure that Shiro really was okay, and it wasn’t an act. 

“He used to freeze up sometimes,” Pidge whispers. “I didn’t realize he was still doing that…it’s less obvious when you’re not in the middle of a fight. I just… I had just assumed when Allura brought his consciousness over she healed that.”

Curtis has to turn away as he rolls his eyes. As if space magic would somehow heal deep psychological trauma. Quite frankly the use of space magic to stuff Shiro into a new body had caused new trauma, rather than repair the old. 

“I never knew he had someone special before you…” Lance says softly. “I didn’t even know he was into guys. I used to be so jealous of any attention Allura gave him…”

“I never asked him…” Matt scrubs at his face. “I still have nightmares about my time in captivity. It’s not something I ever wanna talk about… But… I’ve got my family around me…”

“What happened to Shiro’s family?” Lance asks, dreading the answer.

Keith clears his throat. “Disowned him when he came out. They were extremely traditional. They didn’t even approve of him moving here. But the best flight instructors were here. I don’t know if they survived or not,” Keith admits.

Krolia has slowly moved closer to the  bathroom door, to keep an ear out for Shiro.

“So he has no one but you guys, and none of you could be bothered to see he was hurting and needed a family?!” Curtis demands. “Ironically the one person who checks in the most is the one who isn’t here. Did you guys forget Shiro’s birthday was two weeks ago? Hunk at least sent a message and a promise of cake when he’s Earthside again.”

“Quiznak,” Pidge says softly with feeling. She had forgotten. Completely. Hadn’t even sent a message. 

“Look, he’s really good at pushing people away and putting up a strong front. Most people never knew he was in pain before Kerberos,” Matt tries to explain.

“So that makes it okay to ignore him?” Curtis snaps, realizing he’s getting more frustrated by the minute. About to say something else, Lance clears his throat hesitantly and Curtis pauses. 

“As his friends, it was our job to read between the lines…” Lance points out, looking first at Curtis, then Matt. “And we didn’t. We just let ourselves rely on him and always assumed he was fine. Even though we should have known there was no way anyone could be… after what he went through.” 

Keith stands up abruptly as the bathroom door opens, going to catch Shiro as he stumbles out. Putting an arm around him he leads him back to the couch. Matt and Pidge move to make room.

Curtis picks up the blanket he had wrapped around Shiro before everyone arrived, and wraps it around him again.  “Do you want me to get you a sweatshirt?” he asks softly, kissing Shiro’s temple when he shakes his head ‘no.’ His hand had been icy earlier, odds are he’s still cold. “You haven’t eaten yet, there’s plenty of food…” he offers.

“We have pizza, sushi, soup…” Keith says helplessly.

“We can always go get something else if there’s something specific you want,” Matt offers.

Shiro just feels worn out, a little dizzy, and honestly he’s not sure how much longer he can keep a brave face on any of this. Not that he managed very well while the Holts worked on his shoulder. Maybe they’ll take the hint soon and just go. It’s not like he’s the one who invited them over. Maybe they’ll realize he’s not good company anyway, now that they’re finally here.  He doesn’t want to eat. “I’m good,” he smiles. “I had some of the soup Pidge brought. It was really good.” 

“You barely ate anything,” Keith protests. He can see the bones in Shiro’s face are more sharply defined, now. Almost like when they first found him after he crash landed back on Earth. 

Watching Curtis slide in behind Shiro and wrap his arms around the other man’s middle, Keith wonders if Shiro would even sit up without the extra support. He seems frail. He’s never seemed frail before. Never.

“I put the soup bowl back mostly full,” he continues. “We brought sushi, if you’d rather…”

Krolia takes the cue to bring food  and drinks from the counter. Lance gets up to help her load the coffee table with silverware and  even more food.

“Or pizza,” Matt suggests.

“Or if you're queasy… Soup or juice.”

Shiro breathes out through his nose, trying to keep from snapping at anyone. 

“Patience yields focus,” Keith, Matt, Pidge, and Lance all say in perfect unison, all noticing the signs of Shiro trying to keep his temper in check.

Shiro just wrinkles his nose in mock irritation by way of response. He picks up one of the juice packets and makes a big show of being unable to open it one handed, even though he could if he wanted to.

Curtis snorts, and wrestles the packet away to crack it open and pass it back. But not before faking a hand over and then taking a long drink of it, first.

“Gross,” Shiro mutters.

“You’ve had my tongue in your mouth, but sharing a drink is where you draw the line? Well guess where else I guess my mouth doesn’t belong.”

“Oh, no, gross. No, not cool.” Lance pretends to cover his ears. “Even referencing old people sex is nasty!”

“Old!” Shiro says indignantly as he can. Play along. Fake it till you make it.

Curtis is tempted to make an experience joke, but he feels it might hit a sore spot for Lance, even though he knows Lance has done a little dating recently.

“Yeah, I mean, you look like a grandpa, why don’t you dye it?” Matt asks. Mostly still teasing.

“So I can look as tired as I feel?” Shiro tries. It falls flat. "The senior citizen discount is better than the one for veterans….” He tries, working a smile onto his face.

Lance looks at him, and lightly touches the Altean marks on his cheeks. “Its for her, isn't it?” He asks, eyes overbright.  He’s spent his fair share of time grieving her, and with his family around him, he’s doing fine and moving on. But he’d never thought that all those times Shiro checked on him, that Shiro was still grieving her, too.

Shiro breaks eye contact with Lance, and he presses his lips into a thin line so they won’t tremble.  He takes a drink of his juice, and lets the flavor roll over his tongue. At least now no one’s pushing him to eat.

When Shiro finishes off his drink, Lance makes eye contact with Curtis who nods slightly in understanding. Carefully taking the emptied packet and setting it on the table for Shiro, he shifts back, separating himself a little from his boyfriend. He isn’t remotely shocked when Shiro is slammed into him and Lance’s arms dig into his middle. The younger man squeezes Shiro tightly, ignoring his grunted protest at being held too tight. 

“I miss her, too,” Pidge says abruptly, and Lance holds out an arm. She squishes into the pile. “Keith just get your ass in here,”  she snaps irritably. Keith makes a show of rolling his eyes at the idea of a group hug, but the former Paladins all know he’s happy to join in. Curtis shifts away, caressing Shiro’s back gently before letting Keith take his spot. Keith settles behind Shiro, supporting him.

“I’m really sorry about Adam, too,” Keith says softly. “I let you blow me off once and I never… We both loved him.”

“I never even thought to check…” Matt says. “I know how close you guys were…and he was my friend, too, and we could have… we should have talked about it. Him.” 

Shiro’s shoulders start to shake in silent sobs.

Colleen and Sam have finished packing up the bathroom and come out in time to know the topic has turned to Adam. “He knew how you felt about him,” Sam promises. “And he knew you were alive and coming home. I think he was excited to see you. Even if you two were never going to be the way you were before.”  Sam doesn’t know if this information is helpful to Shiro or not, but in general, he prefers knowing the truth than leaving it up to guesswork and speculation.

Curtis quietly does his best to explain to Krolia who Adam was.

“It doesn’t upset you? Them praising him?”

“That’s Takashi’s past. I’m his present, and I hope… his future.”

Krolia shrugs. Humans are weird.

At some point the grieving winds down and concludes. Keith is gently rubbing Shiro’s back and trying to reassure him. For all he knows his brother is mortified at having broken down in front of witnesses.

Curtis drags over a box of tissues that gets passed around.

“Okay my turn, move aside boys,” Colleen says, forcing the paladins to clear out until she has a path to Shiro. Pulling him into a tight hug, she’s gratified when he leans into her and hugs back. Patting his back gently, she kisses the side of his head. “I don’t know when we forgot you were just a young pilot… Not much older than Matt. You’ve always been like family to us.”

Shiro tries to brush her comments aside but she’s not having it.

“Sam knew you were the best  pilot . And somewhere along the way we forgot you were anything other than a leader. We forgot to be family. You and Adam and Keith were one. And at the Garrison it was you, Sam, and Matt.”

“I was your boss,” he points out, voice muffled by her shoulder.

“Moms trump all military rankings. I’m always able to veto you,” she tells him reassuringly.

“Pff,” he protests, only to scrunch his face when she peppers his face with kisses.

“Earth mothers have no shame,” Curtis comments to Krolia quietly.

“Make a comment like that and you’re next,” Colleen warns. “We’re all family here.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?” Keith asks, grunting when Shiro pushes against him in a lackluster attempt to escape more affection.

“Because it is,” Pidge and Matt say in unison.

“Holt family hug!” Sam insists, bunching up his kids closer to his wife.

Curtis isn’t sure how it happens but somehow they all end up squeezed together in a group hug. It’s not comfortable, and thankfully it doesn’t last long, but it feels kind of perfect.

Once freed Shiro takes an interest in the food, leaning forward to use his fingers to pick out random pieces of sushi and dumping them on a plate before settling back against Keith.

“Are you gonna use me as furniture all night?” Keith complains.

Shiro chuckles at his phrasing - he and Adam used to say that to Keith when he first started to spend more time with them. Keith wriggles a little in mock discomfort and Shiro makes an annoyed noise when it causes him drop his sushi.

“I’ve got this, Shiro,” Lance reassures him, leaning over to grab chopsticks.

“Oh no, take cover,” Pidge warns.

“Hey! I’m really good at using chopsticks!” he drops the piece of sushi twice before he has it.

“Why’re you taking my food?” Shiro complains.

“I'm not, I’m helping. Open wide.”

“What?”

Keith starts to laugh. Curtis can’t imagine Shiro letting someone feed him. He won’t even eat off Curtis’ fork at restaurants unless Curtis passes the whole fork over. Laughing too, soon everyone but Lance is giggling.

“Nope. Not gonna happen.” Shiro selects a different piece with his fingers and stuffs it into his mouth.

“Fine!” Lance jokes, setting the piece back along with the chopsticks.

Shiro takes them up instantly with a little smirk.

Keith leans over Shiro’s shoulder. “That looks good,” he says, reaching for a piece.

“Hey!” Shiro protests, trying to rebuff him with just his shoulder. Stuffing the piece in question into his mouth, he tries to inform Keith that it’s gone now. His mouth is too full.

“I mean there’s more on your plate,” Keith points out. He’ll do this all day if it means Shiro will eat.

“Cut it out,” Colleen warns. “You’ll choke.”

Shiro gives Keith a look that most definitely says: no I won’t.

“Gross. Shiro, gross.”

“Seems interesting to me,” Curtis grins, having caught the exchange.

Shiro looks up at him and scrunches his nose in response. 

Keith gives Lance a look. “I gotta stretch,” he tells Shiro, gently patting his back. He wheezes when Shiro leans back on him more. “I will pee on you,” he threatens and Shiro instantly sits up straight.

Lance shifts some, not to take Keith’s spot but to offer more support. Pidge and Matt shift in response.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” Keith asks Curtis,  once he’s sure that Shiro is occupied by Pidge, Matt, and Lance.

“Sure.”

Keith shifts uncomfortably, unsure of how to begin. Curtis seems to have infinite patience, Keith figures, because he doesn’t say anything and just waits. After a false start or two, Keith finally manages to start talking.

“Ask Shiro, I’m really bad with words, okay?’ he blurts out, feeling like an idiot. “But I feel like I should say something. I know very little about you guys, and I’m sorry. But I can tell you really love him. And he loves you. And I don’t know how it works, or what the future holds…” He shifts again, uncomfortable. It’s not like he’s really gotten better at talking about feelings. 

“But it was so different with Adam. He was so different. ‘Patience yields focus’,” Keith said, holding up his hands to make air quotes. “Everything had to be controlled. And he had to be perfect. He was a little bit of a show off… and he drove himself to the edge.”

Keith takes a breath. “And they suffered for it. Trying to support someone who never chooses you first. I was so angry at Adam, but I get it now. And… I see him choosing you. This time he’s choosing you.

"I see the way he looks  at you. Or just the way you guys look at each other. You’re so in tune.” Keith looks down. “And I’m so sorry you had to call us to task… You’re right. We are his family. And so we’re yours, too.

Curtis bites back a sarcastic comment, given how hard he knows this is for Keith. He is glad that Keith wants to do better, going forward. And it touches him the other man is willing to give him a chance. According to Takashi, Keith had not liked it when he found out he had to share his affections with another person. It’s touching that Keith is accepting him so easily. 

"And I don’t know what I’m really trying to say other than… He’s not struggling or fighting for anything. He has you. And I’m so grateful he has you. I haven’t seen him relax… Or drop his guard… He was so annoyed all of us came,” Keith laughs. Curtis grins. “And he didn’t even try that hard to play Mr. Perfect and cover it up. We got to grieve with him. And tease again.” He rubs at his eyes.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is: I don’t know what he’d be like without you in his life right now, but I’m glad I don’t have to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments = love.   
> And as always, life is hard and I could use some encouragement. <3   
> Thanks for all the kudos, hits, bookmarks, comments etc. <3 you guys are awesome and I look forward to seeing what you think. This... chapter was... a rollercoaster, and the upcoming ones will hit even harder. (I think.)   
> Feel free to talk to me about Shiro, Voltron, whatever.  
> And thanks for reading :}


End file.
